The Life and Lies of Conmen and Spies
by CelestialHeavens1
Summary: The only difference between spies and conmen are stories they can tell.
1. Life and Lies of Conmen and Spies

An idea I had for a while. Kind of a what if sort of scenario.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

_**The Life and Lies**_

_**of**_

_**Conmen and Spies**_

He was less than a day old the first time he met his brother, Eyal Lavin.

Their mother was a beautiful woman named Aya Chait and Eyal's father was named Noam Lavin. Noam and Aya had gotten divorced and stayed with his father. When she traveled to America, she met a charming American policeman named James Bennett. When James was arrested, Aya moved back to Tel Aviv, where she discovered she was pregnant. She named the baby Navon Chait and spoke to him in English and Hebrew and her parents' native German.

Eyal and Noam were at Navon's birth. Eyal had held his little brother with wide eyes and the declaration of one day he wanted to be a father. Aya and Noam had gotten back together not long after that and within a few months of Navon's birth, they were engaged. Within a year of being married, his baby sister, Hannah was born. Despite not being his own, Noam adopted Navon and loved him the same as he did his own children. Noam travelled quite a bit and Aya was always worried. When he was older, he found out why. Noam was a government man, working for the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations.

It was only natural that when the time came for Navon to serve, he'd follow in his step-father's footsteps by being recruited by Mossad. He was a valuable asset to them. He spoke fluent English, Yiddish, German, French, Russian, and Greek, in addition to some Italian, Spanish, Arabic, and Danish, as well as his native Hebrew. He had a wide knowledge of a variety of subjects. He could create passports and legal documents that were difficult to forge. He could recreate paintings and bonds from memory. As a result, Mossad would send him to forge Nazi loot and recover the original. He was good at it too, the best.

* * *

He was twenty-one the first time he saw Peter Burke.

Peter was FBI, barely, and Navon was on a mission in D.C. He'd always wanted to see the FBI's training facilities, or at least, that was what he told his handler. Eyal was on an off the book vacation in the States on a not-so-legal passport. Peter was there, along with some guy called Rossabi, at one of the fast food restaurants that Eyal and Navon found themselves at. They had to hightail it back to Israel after FBI caught word of a certain Mossad agent stealing paintings, that may or may not have been stolen from Jews during the Thirties. (But there's no way the FBI was acknowledging that part and there went Navon's first clean passport, which was a real shame because he had worked so hard on making a solid American identity.)

* * *

He was twenty-five when his sister died.

They found out that Hannah Lavin was dead, along with thirty or so others from a suicide bomber in Netanya that became known as the Passover massacre. After that, he took off running. He'd take any mission anywhere and it's during the thirty-six days that Eyal is part of Operation Defensive Shield that Navon gains a reputation in Mossad as being that _meshugener gonif_. He had started running from the truth- _no, Chanah can't be dead. She can't be_- and he kept running and couldn't stop. He kept trying and failing to find something to hold on to, but everything slipped through his fingers like butter.

Eyal was like him. Once his service was up, he followed his father's footsteps and join Mossad too. The two of them kept running. It drove Mrs. Lavin crazy, to the point where she eventually divorced him and got custody of their son, Aviv. Eyal's still running, still grasping at straws to try to hold on to something, anything, that will hold him in one place. He doesn't have what Navon has, but he knows Eyal is okay with that for now.

* * *

He was twenty-six the first time he went to New York City.

He was supposed to cultivate Vincent Adler as an asset so he'd lead them to a whole ship of stolen Nazi pieces. It was the first time he met the wild Auggie Anderson. He was a CIA legend. Unfortunately, his mission was the same one was Navon's and he was ashamed to say that if it wasn't for a conman named Mozzie, he'd have failed terribly.

* * *

He was twenty-six when he got on the FBI's radar.

As a conman, no less. It was at this point that Mossad felt the need to tell him that if he was caught by the FBI, they would not help him. They would not extract him, they would not work a deal with the United States. He would be completely on his own. Mossad would deny all knowledge of him. He told them it was fine.

* * *

He was twenty-six the first time he fell in love.

Her name was Kate Moreau and she made him want to forget everything. She made him want to drop the mission, drop Mozzie's con, drop everything and just be free with her. The two of them on an uncharted island in the sun. It was the first time he'd ever thought of such a thing. Kate was the reason he'd stopped running. When she left, she became the reason he started running again.

* * *

He was twenty-nine when the FBI arrested him.

This particular event occurred two weeks after he set up a rather largely funded bank account and made himself a safe house in New York. Mozzie and Kate didn't know about it and it was on one of his few clean identities. Andrew Robert Ross, thirty, a linguist and translator who learned the languages by studying them in their own country. He even who a few articles about himself under various names and filed tax returns. The condominium he had bought was paid off in full. The electric, gas, and water all came out of the bank account on automatic withdrawal. He stashed any evidence that he was a foreign citizen there.

Eyal was at his trial, sitting discreetly in the back, just another concerned, but bored citizen, as was Auggie on the exact opposite side. Still, he was touched that his brother would show up for this and he thanked _HaShem_ that he wasn't caught for espionage. That would be career suicide. It might also be regular suicide too, especially if certain assets that he had cultivated learned who he really was. That wouldn't be good for him. So he prayed, silently in his head, hoping that they wouldn't ever discover it before he could disappear in the wind. (It was, after all, a family trait.)

* * *

He was thirty-two when he started working with the FBI.

But it was better than prison, so who could blame him. By then, Neal Caffrey had no easy connection to Navon Chait. The idea was almost laughable, that a gentleman art thief could be a Mossad field officer.

He kept up his languages in private. He held secret conversations, burner phone to burner phone with Eyal. He spoke German with a friend of his in Germany. He ordered food in French at restaurants and pretended to be a Russian tourist at others. He'd like to go to worship in a temple, but he didn't really feel like explaining to anybody when Neal Caffrey became Jewish… or his name suddenly became Navon.

After all, the only difference between spies and conmen are stories they can tell.

* * *

He was thirty-three when Kate died.

She was exploded in a plane that was obviously meant for him. His first guess was that his old life had caught back up with him. It'd been another year before he had answers, and Vincent Adler was only attacking Neal Caffrey, not Navon Chait. He didn't even know who that was. Kate had died not knowing who Neal really was or why he stole what he did. She, like Mozzie, assumed that the stuff was for fun or for vanity, but everything he stole went straight to his handler who took everything right back to Mossad. He had turned her without her even knowing. He'd been ready to propose to her, but he had lied through his teeth. It made him feel guilty and awful and he couldn't even tell Peter, not without him getting very angry and accusing him for espionage. (Which after getting accused for that time in Russia, back when he was still very green, was not a road he would ever be ready to go down again.)

* * *

He was thirty-five when Auggie Anderson stumbled into one of Peter's investigations, near literally.

He hadn't seen Auggie since before he had gone to prison, but they played chess over the computer, rooted through message boards and false IDs. (They were nothing if not cautious.) He had heard about the man's accident and how he had lost his sight. He hadn't expected it to have actually changed the cocky CIA operative.

"Sir, you can't be here. This area is closed. It's part of an ongoing investigation," a woman was saying to someone who he wasn't paying all that much attention to.

"Yes, I know. And I'm telling you, I dropped my cane in the confusion. I need my cane. Annie!" Navon looked up because he knew that voice, but he only knew the pretty blonde woman from the way his brother talked about her. (And if Eyal didn't sound more in love or concerned for the blonde than he had for Kate, he'd give every penny he had away.) He'd never expected that she had changed the former field operative as much as his accident had.

He ran over to them, "Hey, Maggie?" He put a hand on the agent's shoulder, "It's okay. Why don't you go get his cane? They won't come in any farther. I'll watch them."

"Do my ears deceive me?" Navon smirked at the man.

"It's good to see you too, Auggie."

"Handsome as ever, I see." The men chuckled and shook hands.

"I take it you two know each other," Annie said from where she had become Auggie's human cane.

"We do." Auggie began to introduce the two, but he beat the other man to the punch, "A-"

"Annie Walker. My brother's description does you no justice." She looked between Navon and Auggie, as if trying to figure if they were really related. He leaned in, "My brother who you've met in Zurich. And D.C. And Israel."

It took a minute, but then it clicked for the two CIA agents. "You're related to Eyal?"

He chuckled, "Navon Chait. Better known as Neal Caffrey."

* * *

Let me know what you think. Review. :)


	2. Chutzpah

In season 3, post 3x11 Checkmate.

Chapter Summery: Matthew Keller was a lot smarter than most people gave him credit for.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**Chutzpah**

_Boldness, audacity, insolence, nerve, gall, or a combination thereof, weighted according to the situational need_

Matthew Keller was a lot smarter than most people gave him credit for.

He made Neal Caffrey for a spook the first time he saw him. It wasn't one big thing that made Keller know, but all the little things. He flirted with every woman in sight, but he never seemed to trust them fully. He'd eye his way around the room discreetly when he thought no one was watching. He'd pick up cover stories so easy and drop them just as quick. The conman was good, too good.

Still, he found he liked the man. He had guts, although if he was really a spy, he'd have to be. Just because James Bond used good looks and luck to make it by ninety percent of the time didn't mean real spies could. And just because when he'd met Neal the first time, he'd been playing at the world backgammon finals in the Grand Casino in Monaco, smoking a cigar and drinking some French wine he couldn't pronounce properly without butchering the name, with women draping themselves over him, didn't mean he was some debonair conman. No, if anything, it just proved how deep under cover he was.

He noticed that things would go missing. After jobs, things wouldn't be there that should. The coins in Madrid, the paintings from Luxembourg, the diamond necklace in Prague, the statue in Munich, the treasure that should have been twice the size that it was….

And just how did he get in bed with a princess that time? She definitely should have been able to tell that he was a conman, so why take him home or give him a solid gold tray?

His knee ached badly.

That shot should have been impossible. It was impossible. So how did Neal make it?

Maybe he wasn't a spy. Spies killed people and Neal hated the idea of killing, so it seemed unlikely. But he had to be part of the alphabet soup, didn't he? He was too American to be British, so he couldn't be MI6 or MI5 or SIS or whatever they were calling themselves these days. And though he spoke German and Russian like a native, he couldn't be FSB or SVR or BND or BfV. He was pretty sure that Caffrey wasn't Military intelligence, so he could rule those out. He had heard him speak in French and Greek before, so those were just as possible as CIA or FBI under some other name, like Nick or Nathan. At this point, he wondered if even Neal knew his real name.

He hissed in pain. Neal shouldn't have been able to shoot that well. One day he was going to have to come straight out and ask him, but until then, he could admit the man's guts. He did something Keller never could… he was working with the FBI.

* * *

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	3. Neshama

Season 4, before the finale.

Chapter Summary: Based off of the beautiful nickname that Eyal has for Annie. When I wrote The Lives and Lies of Conmen and Spies, Sara was originally part of it and I wondered if what if Neal called Sara by the same name that Eyal, who is his brother in this, calls Annie. And of course, Sara is one to question Neal on everything... and thus, I present Neshama.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**Neshama נשמה**

_literally "breath"; related to intellect and the awareness of God; can mean "soul" or "spirit"; darling; used as a term of endearment between men and women, children and friends_

Sara rolled over in bed, welcoming Neal's weight against her as she kissed his back. Tears streamed down her face as she finally broke down from the emotionally taxing day she'd had at work today that had ended with her almost being shot. Suddenly, his weight was gone and she was being cradled like a child. His fingers were in her hair as he soothed her, calming her. She was almost on the verge of sleep when she heard him whisper:

"Shhh, _neshama_. Everything's okay. You're okay."

Despite being so relaxed and nearly unconscious to the world, the word caught her attention and she filed it away in her head for later.

* * *

The next day, Sara woke up well rested and feeling very content. She had almost forgotten about Neal's strange word and went through the day without a thought towards it. It was only when she heard gossiping in the break room, where some of the more air-headed women from her floor were giggling at the names their boyfriends and husbands called them. When she went back to her office, she typed in the word 'neshama' into Google and she was surprised at what she found.

There was a Wikipedia link, which she really shouldn't be surprised about, considering there was a Wikipedia page for everything. However, it was the words underneath that surprised her.

_Neshama - Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia_  
_ wiki/Neshama_

_From Wikipedia, the free encyclopedia. Jump to: navigation, search. Neshama ( Hebrew: _נשמה_) is a Hebrew word which can mean "soul" or "spirit". It may refer to:._

_HEBREW speakers: is "Neshama" a nickname for women? - Yahoo! Answers_  
_ .com › ... › Travel › Africa & Middle East › Israel_

_Apr 5, 2012 - Neshama - soul; (slang) darling. Neshama, could you make me some coffee? A beautiful and spiritual word, you'll often hear both men and women ..._

Hebrew? She knew that Neal knew languages beside English, but why would he know Hebrew of all things? More than that, why would he be calling her Hebrew words?

When she got back to Neal's apartment, he was already home, shirtless, painting something on the canvas. She kind of hated to interrupting him. He looked so memorizing when he painted. "You're staring," he teased without looking up from his work. She stepped inside and closed the door.

"What's _neshama_?" she blurted out, forgetting how she had been trying to think of ways to ease the question into the conversation.

"What?" He set the palate and brush down, walking over to her. "Why do you ask?"

"You called me that last night." He blinked, obviously realizing that he had indeed called her that word that had sent her on a quest to understand why he had called her it. He walked to the wine rank and grabbed a bottle and two glasses. "Getting me drunk won't make me forget my question."

"I know," he told her, looking serious, "It's just not a question I can answer sober because after I do, the next question out of your mouth will be 'where did you learn it'?" Off her surprised look, he added, "I know you, Sara."

She sat down at the chair he had pulled out for her and sipped at the glass of wine he poured. "So?"

"Neshama means darling in Hebrew."

She shrugged sheepishly, "I kind of figured that one out from my Internet search. So you were right about my next question- where did you learn it? And why call me that? I mean, you know French. I would think that would come more second nature to you than Hebrew would."

Neal sighed. "I'm not drunk enough to start answering those questions."

It was several glasses of wine later before Neal started talking. "I was born in Tel Aviv," he said suddenly, causing Sara to look up. "My mother had a brief relationship with a man she met in America, my father. When he was arrested, she moved back home to Israel and I grew up there."

"That doesn't seem so complicated." Neal stared down at the wine as he twirled it around the glass.

"When it's put like that, no, it doesn't. It's easy to make things seem black and white." With those words, he took a long sip, finishing off the contents of the glass and stood up, taking their empty glasses to the sink.

She frowned at this comment and her eyebrows furrowed in confusion, "Does Peter know?"

"No," he said simply, supplying no extra information. As he passed, he dropped a kiss to the top of her head, enveloping her in his arms. She sunk into the warmth of them. "I think it's time we call it a night."

"Okay." She pulled him over to the bed, curling into him as they lay close. "Goodnight, Neal."

"Goodnight… _neshama_."


	4. Tsaddiq

Season 1, Episode 5- The Portrait

Chapter Summary: Based off of the Julianna and Neal's final scene.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

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**Tsaddiq (צַּדִּיק****)**

_Righteous_

How was it any different? He had been stealing paintings for years. He had been doing this exact same thing for years- returning art to its true owners. The only difference between then and now was he had restrictions, a leash for one. Still, the risk was worth it, seeing the look in Julianna's eyes when she hung the painting back up over her mantle. This was worth it; it made everything worth it. He'd steal this painting a thousand times over because it was the right thing to do. It felt good, like he could still serve his purpose, even behind the anklet. It was just a new challenge for him and he was excited to get started.


	5. P'tzatza, Pitzootz, Pitzutz

Sometime in early season 4.

I don't speak Hebrew, so any mistakes are because of that.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**P'tzatza** (פצצה)-_ bomb_

**Pitzootz** (פיצוץ)- _blast_

**Pitzutz** (פיצוץ)- _explosion, fantastic_

_The ringing in his ears gave away the first sign that something wasn't right._

Neal was running with everything that he could towards the FBI building from where the bomb had exploded in the street, from under the car he had been about to get into. The blast had kicked him back and he had started running, when he slammed into Diana without warning. "Neal, are you okay?"

_The next was the resonance from the explosion that vibrated through him. Rubble was in his mouth, in his breath, and while he wasn't afraid for himself, Chanah had been sitting right next to him when he had been knocked down by the wall of heat from the explosion. There was the smell of something burring, something he couldn't quite label and he wasn't sure he wanted to. He couldn't find his sister next to him. Where was she? He couldn't see her. He could hear Chanah screaming, but she was too far away and the ringing was too loud. How had she gotten so far away? He tried to get up, but screamed out from the excruciating pain in his arm. It had to be broken, it just had to be. He surveyed the sight of the burning room again and caught sight of his sister's form on the floor, crawling towards her, keeping in mind to be gentle with his arm. Still, as she lay broken before him, his arms both shot out to shake her, even as he ignored the pain shooting through his right side._

"_Chanah, you're okay_," he muttered in Hebrew, grasping the woman in front of him's arms. "_You're okay. I'm going to get us out of here."_

The agent panicked as he spoke in tongues.

"Neal," Diana shook him, carefully, before grabbing his face and looking into his eyes for signs of a concision. There were none, but that didn't stop her worry. "Neal?"

"_Ani mitzta'er."_

"Neal!" She yelled as Peter and Jones came out of the outcome of the building where they had ducked behind when the bomb had exploded. "Boss, he's not responding. I can't understand what he's staying either."

Peter jogged over to them, taking in his CI's thousand-yard stare. It was creepy; the man was staring right at them, but it felt like he was looking through them. "Neal?" Peter questioned, shaking the man's arm, trying to bring him back. "Neal? You with me?"

_Her body was limp on the floor. He had worked for Mossad for four years and this was the most terrifying thing he'd ever seen._

_"Chanah? Chanah, are you with me?"_

_She responded, slightly, the blood dripping from the gash on her forehead._

_"N'von," Chanah slurred, her golden locks stained red._

"We've got to do something about his forehead," Peter said, noticing the gash that had obviously been created when Neal had been thrown from the force of the explosion. He put his hands on Neal's shoulders, pushing him down onto the ground.

_The flames rose around them, the stink of burning gasoline filled the air and made him gag as it hit his throat. But gasoline- that wasn't right. The bomb had been cyanide._

"Pet'r?" Neal slurred, slipping back into the present time.

"Neal? Can you hear me?"

"Wha' 'appen'?"

"Leonard Morris, our suspect set it, hoping it get us and the files. When I unlocked the car-"

"I 'as closer." He tried to get up, but Peter kept him down and Neal winced at the sharp pain in his shoulder. He pushed off his burned and bloody jacket and ripped at the ruined shirt to the spot where a piece of shrapnel had embedded itself. He went to put it out, but a gentle hand stopped him.

"Leave it in. The paramedics will pull it out," Diana told him softly as Peter tried to back people away from the man on the ground while the ambulance pulled in to the curb. The firemen were spraying the car, the bomb squad was cleaning up the scene, but Neal's mind was back eleven years.

_"Help 'em," Chanah begged, fighting to keep her eyes open. Navon laced the fingers of his good hand through his sister's, squeezing tight to try to keep her away._

_"Chanah, no. You-"_

_"Help 'em, Nav'n. Then help me."_

Neal's grip was too tight on Diana's as the paramedics pulled the stretcher up to them, trying to put Neal on.

_He dropped his sister's hand as a man, one of the men who was the reason he was at the hotel in the first place, tried to attack him. His muscles tensed and he sprung up like an attacking tiger, graceful as he slammed his elbow hard into the man's face, jerking back for the gun, the Jericho 941F he always carried in the back on his pants, despite hating firearm. Eyal preferred a .44 Desert Eagle, but Navon liked his Baby Eagle better._

It was surprisingly steady in his hands, the weapon. How he had managed to slip it off of her in his less than conscious state and cock it to aim at the paramedics, she wasn't sure.

_The weight of the gun was off to Navon. His Baby Eagle was heavier than this._

Diana moved forward carefully, like she was afraid Neal was an animal about to spook, and attempted to pulled her gun away from him. "Neal? It's okay. It's the paramedics."

Instead, he turned on her, his aim deadly, the look in his eyes far off. It was like he saw her, but he wasn't really seeing her. Something about that terrified her more than the idea that Neal Caffrey was pointing a gun at her chest.

_He was hesitating. Why was he hesitating? These men- Chanah wouldn't have come with her co-workers if she hadn't known he was coming here and he would have been at home if these men… he should shoot them like dogs where they stood._

_"Please, wait!" One of them men begged, holding his hands up. He opened his hand, showing the flash drive. "Let us help people out. We give you drive. You let us leave."_

_Their Hebrew was broken at best, but there had been enough death for today. Navon nodded, lowering his weapon and tucking it back in his pants before pulling the shirt back over it. He tried not to show the extent of his pain. He didn't trust these men, but he would have to to get the drive. _

Diana let out a breath of relief as Neal lowered the gun, putting it in the back of his pants, before he lowered his shirt and suit jacket over it. She was thankful when Peter noted the action and grabbed the gun out from where he had hit it. The paramedics looked at him anxiously. "Do you think he's safe now?"

The one with the broken nose from where Neal had elbowed him glared. "He's fine. He needs to get to a hospital," Diana told them.

"He nearly shot you, lady!" the one with the broken nose yelled, then flinched in pain. He flinched again as the female FBI agent got up in his face.

"He's out of his head at the moment. He nearly got blown up by a bomb and thrown ten feet. He needs medical attention."

"We'll have to sedate him." She gave him a glare and the two hopped to, restraining and drugging the CI.

"I'll go with him to the hospital," she told Peter, "You take care of things here and meet us there."

"Alright," Peter agreed, though she could see he really wanted to go with Neal.

* * *

It was weird seeing the conman so still on the bed. He was asleep from the medications, his shoulder wrapped up from where the shrapnel had planted itself into Neal, the bandages sticking out from underneath the hospital gown. Diana sat in the chair, waiting for Neal to wake up or Peter to show up, whichever happened first. Peter had called to say he'd be a while, the fallout from the bomb- between the reporters and the reports and bosses- was too much to try to slip away from at the moment.

_He knelt down on the floor beside his sister. "Chanah?"_

_"N'von-" Her eyes were fluttering shut._

_"No, no, no! You stay with me. Do you hear me? You stay with me!" He checked her pulse. It was rapidly becoming faint, until he couldn't feel it at all. "Chanah?" he half asked, half sobbed. His baby sister was dead._

"Di-ana?" a strained voice came and she looked up automatically.

"Neal! How are you feeling?"

"Better than I could be," he winced, shifting in the bed slightly, "Sorry for almost shooting you."

"It's okay." Neal gave her a disbelieving look. "Under normal circumstances, it wouldn't be, but due to the circumstances being that you were nearly blown up, I'm willing to forgive it."

"Thanks." He closed his eyes, but he didn't look like he was resting.

"The doctor said that you were flashing back, that it's possible you'd been in another explosion. The only other explosions we know that you've been involved with were the one with Adler and the one with Kate. Only one of those involved a gun, but none of them involved you shooting someone, so care to explain."

Neal chuckled bitterly. "Not really." Diana gave a disapproving sigh and leaned back in the chair. "What I'm about to say never leaves this room." She nodded. "Two thousand two. I was twenty-five. I was- a very different person. I had a Jericho 941F that I carried everywhere where I didn't have to go through customs and wouldn't have given a second thought about shooting if I thought you were a danger because it was better you die than I."

"It's hard to picture," she admitted, "I thought you hate guns."

"I do." Her curious look made him continue. "You cannot tell anyone ever. Not Mozzie, not Peter, no one. If you even try to tell anyone, I can't guarantee your safety. Okay?"

"Okay. Neal, you're sort of scaring me." The uncharacteristic phrase slipped from her lips before she could think about it and Neal looked up. "You didn't kill someone, did you?"

"I'm ignoring that question. My name's not Neal."

Diana rolled her eyes. "Newsflash, everyone knows that Neal Caffrey's just an alias."

He gave her a half smirk, half glare that made her shift back in her chair. "I have a brother and had a sister. I'm the reason my sister's dead." Ice flowed through her veins at his confession. "It was a suicide bomber. I know you're probably thinking that couldn't have been my fault, right?" Diana shrugged and nodded. "Chanah wasn't even supposed to be in Netanya. She was supposed to be with her husband and year-old daughter and in-laws in Haifa, but I was in Netanya and so she came there too."

"Netanya?" she asked, "That's in Israel. What were you doing in Israel?"

"I have an apartment in Tel Aviv. My family is all there. My real life is there." She raised her eyebrow at this, "I had a job and everything."

At this, Diana laughed. "It's kind of hard picturing you having a normal life."

Neal rolled his eyes. "Who ever said anything about normal?"

"So it was probably illegal work?"

"I'm not allowed to answer that question." His look was dead serious. "However, it was a good job." He pointed at himself, "Third generation Mossad, but first to be born in Israel."

Her jaw dropped, then she laughed loudly, as if thinking this was a joke. "You're joking!" Neal's expression stayed serious. "You're not joking."

"No."

"Which is why you don't want me to tell Peter."

"Yes." Diana looked at him, curious now.

"So why tell me?"

Neal's eyes ran over her face, as if looking for any tell of fear. "You were curious about where I learned to break the paramedic's nose like that, about why I reacted the way I did with the bomb. And you have the resources, the connections, to find out. I thought you'd appreciate hearing it from me as compared to some friend who dug too deep and p-ed off Israel and started an international incident."

They sat silently for a long time, Diana in her chair, staring at her hands, Neal staring at the ceiling. "Why?" the quiet word echoed loudly through the room and Neal looked over at her confused. "Why were you in Mossad? You hate guns, you hate violence. It doesn't seem like you. Did they force you to? I mean I know about the mandatory two year service to IDF-"

Neal snort cut her off. "Three years service. Two is for women," he corrected before he continued, "Believe it or not, I wanted that job. I grew up in the Institute, I spoke seven languages by the time I was eleven, knew three forms of martial arts by eighteen, and had the skill set for an exceptional thief. And I knew how to use a gun, use it accurately, and use it lethally. I knew how to get people to trust me, I knew how to handle danger with a level head, and I could be counted on to pull through on a mission. But I'm not that person anymore." His eyes seemed to be pleading with her, but she filed what he had said away in her head- Neal had killed before.

"Were you Kidon?"

At this, Neal laughed hard and loud until he was cut off from coughing from the dust that had settled in his throat during the explosion. "I should have been expecting that question." She raised her eyebrow at him, obviously still expecting his answer. "No, Diana, I was not ever a member of Kidon. I've seen first hand what it does to people." At her disbelieving expression, he shifted up, ignoring the pain in his shoulder. "I really wasn't. But my brother was. It destroyed his marriage. His ex-wife hates him." She laughed and he left it at that. He wouldn't tell her that he had trained with them, but hadn't joined, due to an _argument_ with another member of Kidon that landed him in a Russian prison and he wouldn't have escaped if a FSB officer hadn't helped him. That part was just embarrassing.

"So if you weren't in Mossad's assassination squad, why the secrecy about this? Mozzie and Peter would get over it." Neal glanced around nervously, looking for anyone who might be around. "There's no guards outside the door, if that's what you were wondering."

"Hand me your phone," he ordered. She frowned and didn't move. "I won't answer you."

"You've already told me enough to be incriminating confession for espionage." Neal gave her a look and she sighed, handing him his phone. He pulled out her battery and SIM card.

"If you wanted to be technical, I'm still considered to be an active agent. I never quit, they never stopped sending me paychecks. It could cause a lot of hell for Peter and everyone in the FBI if they knew. That's why I'm asking you to be quiet about this. And if I wasn't so doped up on morphine, I would have never told you any of this."

Diana slouched down, trying to reconnect the two images in her mind. One was of Neal Caffrey- the charming, playboy art thief. The other was of an unnamed Israeli- a cool, calculating spy.

"I guess _'James Bonds_' wasn't so far off for a case name, huh?" Neal chuckled at that. "So am I allowed to know your real name, or would you have to send your brother to come kill me?"

"I wouldn't send him to kill you." He didn't add in, _I'm perfectly capable of killing you myself,_ because despite being on the really good pain medications, he was nowhere near drugged enough to say something that sounded threatening like that to Diana while he was restrained. "Navon," he finally said, "Navon Chait." She blinked and it was obvious that it wasn't the name she was expecting. "If you try to tell anybody that, you'll disappear like you never existed."

His eyes were cold like she'd never seen before and she had little doubt that he was telling the truth about that. "I won't tell anyone."

A knocking came from the door and Diana straightened suddenly. Neal tossed her the phone and she slipped it inside her jacket as Peter opened the door. "You two look guilty."

"Neal was trying to talk me into letting him go," Diana said at the same time Neal shot out, "Diana wanted to shoot me!"

The older agent stood there, amused. "Well, to be fair, you did nearly shoot her."

"But I didn't!" Neal defended, "And if you had been blown up then randomly getting pushed and shoved at, wouldn't _you_ try to shoot someone too?"

Peter conceded that point to Neal. "How's your head?"

Neal gave Peter a look that clearly said '_Really?'_ "It's fine."

"Good. The doctors said you'll be in here another day. We got Leonard Morris on attempted murder and for the bomb and the original charges. I added in destruction of property too, just because he deserved it."

"Careful, Peter," Neal warned, a breathiness to his voice that had been apparent ever since the bomb went off, "You're sounding like Kramer."

He ignored the comment and instead asked, "Did they check your lungs and throat? You sound off."

Diana nodded, speaking for Neal who hadn't seen a doctor the whole time he'd been in the hospital, "The doctor said it was just the dust. It should go away."

Peter nodded, patting Neal's shoulder awkwardly. "Get some rest."

* * *

Diana had dozed off when she was awoken by a rapid flow of words in the language Neal had been speaking earlier by a shadow at the foot of the sleeping man's bed, long after visiting hours. Knowing what she knew now, she figured it to be Hebrew. But the voice of the man who was speaking did not match Neal's. It was heavily accented, but fluid, like water. She slid her hand down to where her gun was, careful not to make any sudden movements that would signify that she was awake. Her attempt was futile, however, as the man turned to her, lifting a finger to his lips in the international symbol of 'be quiet'. He nodded his head to the hallway before he headed out, his footsteps silent and graceful. She followed him, closing the door behind them.

"Who are you and why are you in here?"

"I think you already know the answer to that." His English was, like his Hebrew, heavily accented, but it sounded nice, safe even, almost like he was someone she could trust.

"You're the brother, aren't you?" He smirked and the resemblance between him and Neal was easier to see now.

"Take care of him for me?" She glanced through the window at the sleeping CI, then back to the man.

"I will." The man's smirk faded into a genuine smile.

"Thank you." He handed her back her phone, that until now, she hadn't realized was missing. "I put a number to reach me at. If he gets into too much trouble, let me know." It was obvious where Neal had learned to flirt with women. This was exactly the same kind of stunt that the conman- no, spy, she corrected herself- would have pulled. She crossed her arms over her chest,

"Depends on the kind of trouble. He's pretty good at getting himself out of a mess," she told him, "You should be proud."

"I am." He spared another glance back towards the room. "Don't tell him I was here. He'll get mad. I'm supposed to be in Greece." Diana raised her eyebrows, and the man put his hands up like she might shoot him, "I'm retired. He'd just think that I was going around getting in trouble. You'd think he was the older one with the way he worries."

"Neal? Worries?"

"He worries, Agent Barrigan." The man smiled at her, "Perhaps someday we'll met again." He glanced back into his brother's room, as did she, and when she turned back to him, he was gone.

* * *

Fun Facts about Navon Chait and Family  
• For Neal/Navon to have been born in 1977, his mother would have had been born in at latest 1951, because Eyal was seven when Neal was born. However, Aya Chait was Mossad as Neal points out, and it is likely that she didn't have Eyal until later on. To be third generation Mossad, but be part of the first generation in his family born in the State of Israel, Aya would have had to been born before May 14, 1948, when Israel declared independence from the Mandatory Palestine. This also means that at least one of Aya's parents was also in Mossad.  
• Eyal was a member of Kidon (which means bayonet or "tip of the spear" in Hebrew), which is like Mossad's hit/black op's team. I think this was said when he first met Annie. It sounds like they are a little like Jai's Office of Special Projects, because there is little information available because they're so secretive. According to Wikipedia, training for the unit can take up to two years.  
• James Bonds was the FBI's case file on Neal. This is mentioned in Forging Bonds in Season 2.  
• For Hannah (Chanah), Neal's sister, to have a daughter that's was a year old in 2002, she would not have had mandatory service. She would have opted out because of marriage instead, because she wasn't born until after her parents had remarried, sometime in the early 1980s.  
• If Neal had been with Mossad for four years in 2002 and was still with them in the present time, he would have worked for them for fifteen years. Eyal quit in 2012 and hadn't joined until after their sister had been killed in 2002, so he was only with them for ten years maximum, which means he was in Mossad for less time than his younger brother.  
• Neal is like Simon Fischer on Covert Affairs. Simon is described as being "raised on the farm" and that espionage is literally in his blood, which is like Neal/Navon's life. Simon also trained with the FSB Vympel Force and Neal trained with the Kidon unit.  
• National military service is mandatory for all Israeli citizens over age 18. Men serve for three years and women serve for two.  
• The FSB officer that helped Neal escape is implied to be Simon, mostly because I liked him and I thought he would have been a fun regular if he wasn't a Russian spy.


	6. Neshama Sheli

Season 4, before the finale.

Chapter Summary: Part 2 of Neshama but doesn't have to be read after it.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**Neshama Sheli**

_My soul; used to call someone you love; used to say that the person is as important to you as your soul; the full version of neshama_

The last several days had been wonderful, like a dream. Maybe Neal was right… maybe they could stay up in the clouds together. They were up on June's rooftop, the spring air pleasant, as they sipped red wine and ate Chinese food, in reminiscence of their first "date" up on the FBI's rooftop.

"Tell me about Israel, about your life there?" Sara finally asked.

"What do you want to know?"

"Everything."

Neal took a sip, walking over towards the edge to look over. "I'm the middle child. My older brother, Eyal, and I worked in the same profession up until recently and my sister was an art teacher. She died in the Passover bombing in '02."

"I'm sorry," she whispered, standing up to slip over beside him and placing her hand on his arm. Neal shoo his head.

"It was a long time ago."

"It doesn't make the pain of loosing them go away." She leaned her head against his shoulder and he made a noise of agreement. "So, what about your mother and your brother? Your brother was an art thief too?"

A small smile came across Neal's handsome face and Sara smiled as well, glad she'd brought him off a less gloomy subject. He turned and brought his hand up to the other side of her head, drawing her nearer to him and kissing his temple. "Come on, _neshama_. You should know by now that nothing's ever that easy with me." She turned her head away to keep him from seeing the blush on her cheeks. "But no, Eyal was not an art thief- though I was allegedly very good at that. He did what I did- do- have done for the past thirteen years."

"Which is?" Sara looked up at him and he smiled at her, his eyes full of mystery and intrigue. He knew she'd never be able to resist not knowing, but wondered how much he'd willing give her. She knew Neal well enough to know that if she were to back him into a corner, he'd find a way out, whether it be climbing over the wall, or going underground to avoid the person backing him into the corner to begin with. "You don't have to answer, I mean, if you don't want to," she quickly backtracked.

Neal shook his head. "I want to..."

"But-"

"But it's a long story." Sara glanced at him.

"We have time."

* * *

They wound up curled together on Neal's couch, Sara's eyes drooping shut as her head lay on his chest. It never seized to amaze him how he went from hating this woman so much to wanting her to be a part of his life that he didn't even let Kate in on. They fit together like they were made for each other and she trusted him. He thanked _HaShem_ that she trusted him and had so much faith in him when he had done so little to deserve it, that even what he had told her, the truth about his past, she was still here, almost asleep against him. It was, in his opinion, a miracle.

"Well, that explains the Raphael."

"What about it?"

Sara sat up, laughing. "Well, after you and Peter left, while Kramer was still going over the paperwork, a couple of Interpol agents with a liaison from Mossad came in and told him that they had a warrant for that painting along with the original provenance papers. You should have seen the look on his face."

He burst into laughter. "Well, that explains why he was so against me after that." Neal chuckled again and Sara settled back down against him.

"Neal?"

"Hmm?" he asked, his fingers running up and down the length of his back.

"Does Peter know?"

"No. And until my sentence is up, we're keeping it that way. I do not want to go back to prison on espionage charges."

Sara sat up abruptly. "Peter wouldn't do that."

"He might not have a choice. He's a FBI agent and I wouldn't ever ask him to commit treason. Besides, there are plenty of people out there like Kramer who would use that knowledge as blackmail against Peter and I and then I'd be stuck in D.C. until the world ends." She frowned, leaning back against him. "And Peter would probably have a stroke if he knew."

"That's not fair that they don't take credit for what you were doing."

"How can they? Taking credit for an operation on U.S. soil would basically destroy Israel's alliance with America. My brother helped put it on shaky enough grounds with the DCI's wife." Her brow furrowed and she looked at him funny. "It's a long story that I'll tell you if I can pull enough strings to get you the clearance to hear it." He kissed her forehead, "I promise, _neshama."_

She made a little noise of contentment as she curled back in against him. "Okay." She was silent for a while. "Did Kate know?"

"No," he told her.

"Why?"

"Honestly?" He sighed, shrugging, "I never even thought about telling her. Kate saw me as a conman and a thief. She'd never seem me as anything beyond that. You do."

He could see tears glistening in her eyes as she stretched up to kiss him fully on the lips. When they pulled back, she blinked a few time, to try to keep herself from crying. A truthful Neal, it seemed to Sara, was an overly romantic, sweet, but dangerous Mossad operative who called her by loving nicknames and kissed her like she was the best thing that had ever happened to him.

"Stay the night?"

"Do you really have to ask?" He smiled, a real smile and scooped her carefully into his arms as they headed to bed.


	7. Bechirah Chafshit

Chapter Summery: In the future when Neal is off his ankle, he does all the things he's been putting off.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

* * *

**Bechirah Chafshit**

_Free Will; the doctrine of free will, ascribing to the human will freedom and ability to choose between alternative possibilities of action in accordance with the inner motives and ideals of the agent, is often referred to as one of the basic principles of Judaism. It is consistently assumed that G-d has taught man what is right and what is wrong and left him to chose between the alternative and the consequences. This is clearly stated in the Torah: "I have placed life and death before you, blessing and curse; and you shall choose life, so that you will live, you and your offspring..." (Devarim 30:19). Talmudic-Midrashic expressions are that G-d does not predetermine whether a man shall be tzaddik (righteous) or rasha (wicked); that He leaves to man himself. Everything is in the hands of G-d except the reverence for G-d._

"To our grandest, our greatest, our final case," Neal said, raising the glass as they stood around the table in Peter and Elizabeth's house, "_L'chayim_."

There was a cake on the table. Mozzie and June were there, as was Diana and Jones. Hughes had showed up to celebrate the day as well, a fact that surprised Neal. Even Rossabi put in an appearance.

"That's an odd choice of a toast," Mozzie remarked to Neal as Mozzie drank and Neal ate a piece of cake.

"Why? I was toasting to the life I got back." He smiled at the thought of seeing Israel, of seeing Sara in London, of seeing his Mother and Step-father, and his nephew Aviv and Chanah's husband and daughter.

"Still," Mozzie took a sip and went quiet.

"Are you ready?" Peter asked him, coming up with to the two with the key.

"Always." Neal lifted his pant leg, revealing the tracker and it's green light. The agent unlocked it and it came off easily.

"So how does it feel to be a contributing member of society again?"

"Was he ever a contributing member of society?" Diana quipped.

"Once," Neal replied, "A very long time ago. You see, when we were conning Adler, I used to file tax returns, or Nick Halden did."

They all laughed. "Oh trust me, we know," Peter told him.

The party continued for a while before Diana needed to head home and Jones had a date to make. June told Neal she's see him at home and Hughes congratulated him and took off as well. At some point, Mozzie had also slipped out the back.

"So what do you think you'll do next?" Elizabeth asked Neal as they picked up the dishes.

"I think I'll go see my mom and see Sara," he smiled at the memory of Aya Lavin, her tall and statuesque beauty like something from a painting, as she laughed with her grandchildren. "After that, I don't know. Depends on what catches my eye."

"Are you her only child?"

Neal shook his head to her question. "I have a brother and I had a sister. Things got strained between all of us when she died. And if my brother's been to see our mother at any point in the past decade, I'll be stunned." He gave her a patent Caffrey smile and El smiled back, but she could see the sadness in his blue eyes.

"What was her name?"

"Hannah. She was a couple of years younger than me and as blonde as could be. My step-father always swore that she couldn't possibly be his daughter because no one in that family had ever been that blonde." His smile had faded from the large grin into something more sincere, more wistful.

"So how'd she die?" Peter asked suddenly, coming into the room with the cake. El's eyes went wide and she swatted at him.

"Peter! That was tactless."

"No, it's okay." Neal leaned back against the counter, all traces of a smile gone from his face. Now, he just looked sad, "It was a bombing. _Chanah_ was probably the most religious person I've ever met. In '02 she went to Netanya in Israel for Passover with some colleagues. There was that suicide bomber that went to the hotel she was staying at, the Park Hotel, and she had to have been close to where he was. I think that was probably the worst day of my life. Getting that phone call- it was worse than if I had to watch Kate a thousand times over."

The room was quiet. It made sense now to Peter why Neal had been so distressed in the months after Kate's death, why he had searched so hard for answers. Elizabeth could see the pain Neal was in at this and she put a hand on his shoulder in comfort.

"I'd like to thank you both for everything you've done for me these past six years."

"It's been nothing, Neal." The former conman bent his head down and kissed Elizabeth on the cheek, giving her a quick hug. He turned to Peter a the two men hugged as well.

"It's been a long day. I think I'm going to turn in for the night. I'll- see you."

It wasn't a goodbye, but it might have well been.

The moment her got home he packed everything he'd need, then he took a cab to his safe house, pulling out his Navon Chait paperwork and passport, and putting the Neal Caffrey ones in the spots they had occupied. He was on the first flight to Tel-Aviv before the night was up.

* * *

The day Neal Caffrey's anklet came off, it seemed, he disappeared into the wind.

Peter had hoped the man would stay around. He had grown rather fond of the former con, who had become his friend… his partner… his brother. He first learned that Neal was gone when he went to his apartment, finding the place void of any life except a short, balding man on the terrace drinking wine.

"Have you seen him?"

"What do you think, Suit?" was his only response.

Neal's disappearance only shot up warning flags in everyone's head, all for different reasons. For Calloway, she saw the conman as a risk, someone dangerous. She was sure he was going back to stealing. Jonas and Diana were worried that someone from Neal's past might have come after him. El just worried. And he… he wondered if he'd ever see Neal Caffrey again.

* * *

Navon woke up before the sun rose in a bed that seemed foreign, but familiar, like an old friend he hadn't seem in a very long time. For the first time in a long time, he didn't feel like someone was watching him. He felt that sense of peace that he only ever felt in his own home wash over him.

He went out for a walk in the brisk pre-dawn hours, just wandering around the city, reacquainting himself with his oldest and dearest friend. He sat on the rooftop of one of the buildings and watched the world come alive. At one point, he found himself on Trumpeldor Street, heading towards the oldest and most expensive cemetery that Tel-Aviv had. There were Zionist leaders and Israeli artists and poets and writers.

The Lavin family had owned plots in the northwest corner of the cemetery for as long as they had lived in Tel-Aviv, something that may even predate the State of Israel. When Chanah died, Noam had insisted she be buried there, despite her husband's family having their own plots in a different cemetery. It was a power play, to show the Yosefs that he had control, and everyone knew it. Navon lost some of his respect for the man that day.

He wandered through the graves, emblazoned with a multitude of pebbles on the graves. He weaved through the rows of headstones with the name Lavin carved into them until he reached the one he was looking for. He fell to his knees before it as the carved letters reading Hannah Lavin Yosef brush his forehead. Here, he can feel her spirit reaching out and touching him, trying to communicate, but he can't hear her. His heart hurts as he finally allows himself to truly mourn for the loss of his baby sister.

No one is at the cemetery at this hour and his tears water the ground before her headstone. When he told Peter and Elizabeth about her yester- no, two days ago, that the phone call telling him that Chanah was dead was worse than watching Kate die, he had spoken the truth to them. He had never told anyone how much it really hurt him. He felt the physical pain in his heart begin to lessen and when it faded to a point that was bearable, he stood. "_Shalom, Chanah_," he whispered, placing a small brown-gray pebble on top of the headstone, hoping that one day, the pain would be gone completely and he'd be able to think about his baby sister without falling to pieces. As he left, dawn broke through the clouds and it was going to be a beautiful day.

Navon stopped at the house, despite knowing he could easily get in, he knocked on the door anyways. It had been many years since he had last stepped over the threshold and something inside him felt like a stranger there. The door swung open minutes later and the woman that stood before him looked exactly like he remembers- tall, beautiful, and statuesque.

"_Shalom, Ima_," he said with a sheepish looked on his face, "_Ani Mitzta'er_."

"Navon," she whispered, reaching out and pulling him in a tight embrace. "I was so worried about you."

"I wanted to call, but I couldn't. I'm so sorry."

"I know. I figured. Eyal told me that you were okay and alive," she pulled back, looking slightly amused, "And smuggling coded messages though Greek spies to him."

"That's all true," Navon told her as she pulled him inside and closed the door behind them. When they reached the kitchen, she poured them each a glass of wine and then he proceeded to tell her about his mostly declassified life as Neal Caffrey. When he finished, he looked up at her, "Has _Abba_ been home much lately?"

"He has. He quit Mossad around the time Eyal did."

They were both quiet for a while, the comfort and peace that can only be found between a mother and her son. "I went to see _Chanah_," he told her suddenly and she nodded. "I'm no longer running. I found someone to anchor me down."

"Will I get to meet her?"

"Hopefully, yes." Aya had always loved her younger son's smile. It lit up the room and the sky, it seemed. As he thought about this girl, he smiled and she squeezed his hand, standing as she took their now empty glasses to the counter to refill.

"You must love her very much then."

His blue eyes looked large and childish as he looked at her. Then, he nodded. "I do. I never thought I would like her, but somehow..."

"Does she feel the same?" Navon nodded again at this and Aya smiled. "Good." She sets to work making them lunch and he sits quietly at the table for a few minutes before he comes to help her. "Have you seen your brother yet?"

"He's actually my fourth stop. After London." And Sara, he thought, but didn't add in aloud.

"I'm worried about him. I think he fell in love too."

"He did," Navon confirmed, "But it was doomed from the beginning. She's been married for almost a year now to her best friend, who ironically was my friend long before any of us knew her. They invited him and I to the wedding. It was pretty awkward. Eyal seemed happy enough for them."

She looked at her younger son. "That makes me worry more about him. Have you heard from him lately?"

"He met someone a few weeks ago. A brunette cat burglar was how he described her. I plan on seeing who she is when I go."

She smiled at this and patted his cheek, something she hadn't done since he was a young, gangly child. "You're a good man, Navon."

* * *

It was another morning in lonely London. Sure there were people there, but they weren't _him_.

"Good morning, _neshama_."

Sara shot up with a start. There was Neal, laying next to her in the bed. He was barefooted and had no tie or jacket on. "Morning. When did you get here?"

"About two hours ago. I didn't want to wake you. You looked so peaceful." He smiled at her. She could hear Israel in his voice. Sara could never remember hearing him having an accent before and it was sexy.

"I've missed you," she whispered as she leaned forward to kiss him. He responded with such enthusiasm that if she hadn't been in bed, she'd have fall to the ground as her knees went weak and her toes curled. "I'm glad you're here."

"Mmm, I'm glad to be here too." They smiled at this, laying in the comfort of the other's arms.

"Have you slept?" His grin fade into a genuine smile.

"Some."

"Yes," she whispered in his ear and even the Mossad man had the good graces to look confused.

"Yes?"

"Yes." She snuggled into his shoulder, "It's another time, another place."

He grinned widely as he realized what she was talking about. He rolled her onto her back and kissed her suddenly and hard. "_Ani ohev otach_."

She looked at him confused. "I've heard you say that before, but what does it mean?"

"That means 'I love you' in Hebrew."

"How do you say 'I love you too' in Hebrew?"

"_Gam ani ohevet ot'cha," _he whispered in her ear and she shuttered in response. It was so sexy hearing him speak to her in his own language.

"_Gam ani… ohevet ot'cha?"_ she spoke hesitantly, "Did I say it right?" His forehead fell against Sara's.

"You said it beautifully, _neshama_." He pulled her in closer, "Did you mean it? You want to marry me?"

"Yes," she murmured, wiping at the tears that were streaming down her cheeks. Neal brushed way one that she missed., "I'm saying yes to your fake proposal that wasn't the one you had planned. It wouldn't be us to have you propose in a normal situation."

"The first time you had dinner with me was on top of the FBI building after you had been declared dead. I was trying to con a package out of you and you were trying to get a Raphael out of me. At what time has our relationship ever been normal? We're not normal people, Sara. Normal would being boring."

She half-laughed, half-sobbed at that. "You forget, you were supposed to have killed me."

"I wouldn't have." He nuzzled into her hair, "I don't like guns."

"I know."

"I'll take you ring shopping tomorrow."

"Okay." Her eyelids were drooping and she was almost asleep.

"I love you."

"I love you too."

* * *

It'd been four days and no sign of Neal.

He checked every channel. There were no plane tickets, bus tickets, or credit transactions from anyone with the name Caffrey. If Neal was still using the name he had for the past decade, he was flying way below the radar on it.

"Neal's gone. June told me that he came and left within an hour of him leaving here. He took his IDs and hasn't been back," he told El and Jones and Diana and Vincent, who had come over for dinner to talk outside of Calloway's eyes and ears.

"He's free now, hon. Free will is about letting him choose what to do with that freedom, whether it's the right or wrong choice."

"I can see his check list already. Go see his family, go see Sara, steal the crown jewels and whatever else catches his eye," Peter muttered.

The table was quiet. "He won't do that," Rossabi spoke, "I wouldn't be surprised if he tried to pick up the pieces of his old life and start doing what he did before he was Neal Caffrey."

"Which was?" Peter prompted.

The other two agents looked at the newest to the group expectantly. "We didn't know Caffrey back then," Diana looked straight at the man, who didn't flinch.

"I've guessed, but if I say and I'm right, then I might get a visit from that pain in my a- who I really don't feel like dealing with again in this lifetime. Not after he got my CI blown up and not after he that mess with Russia." Off their looks, he shrugged, "D.C. was a weird place."

* * *

On her first vacation while Neal's in London, he convinces Sara to come with him to Greece.

He couldn't believe that she had never been before, so he took it upon himself to bring her there. She was surprised when he suggested a boat tour, taking her to the marina onto the first boat she saw. "Mind taking us out for a tour?" He called out to the owner.

"It depends," the man replied from where he was hunched over, packing things away, "Are you going to introduce me to your lovely fiancée?"

Sara stared at the man. He looked vaguely familiar, but not enough that she could place him. "Have we met?"

The man straighten, walking over to them. "No."

"Sara, this is my brother, Eyal." Her eyes widened at she realized why she recognized him. Neal had painted faces onto the people in the crowd on the piece he was currently working on and Eyal's was one of them.

"It's nice to meet you, Eyal." She held her hand out to him, and he pulled her into a hug instead. When he pulled back, he turned to his younger brother.

"So this is the girl you're going to marry. Didn't see testify against you at your trial?"

Neal shrugged at the same time Sara said, "You were at Neal's trial?"

"Probably half of the intelligence community was at Navon's trial. He has one of the records for the longest time keeping a cover story and most members of other agencies to help him keep it. My little brother's practically a legend for it."

"Wow." She'd never realized. She knew that Neal Caffrey was just an alias, but she had never realized how much work went into keeping it in place. Sara's head fell against Neal's shoulder as he pulled her in.

Eyal looked to the couple and asked an important question. "So where to?"

"Anywhere."

* * *

Ani ohev otach- I love you. (A man to a woman)

Ani ohevet ot'cha- I love you. (A woman to a man) If you want to respond, I love you too, add the word gam (גם) to the beginning of the sentence.

Ima- mom/mommy

Ani Mitzta'er (masc.)- I'm sorry

L'chayim- "to life", a toast you offer before drinking wine or other alcohol, used the way you would use "Cheers!"

Shalom- hello, goodbye, peace

Neshama- "soul" or "spirit", darling. A beautiful and spiritual word, you'll often hear both men and women using it as a term of endearment with each other, with children and with friends. It's just one example of how spirituality is a part of everyday life and speech in Israel.

Chanah- Neal and Eyal's nickname for their dead sister, Hannah.


	8. Pikuach Nefesh

After Season 4 and _P'tzatza, Pitzootz, Pitzutz, _but before _Bechirah Chafshit._

Chapter Summary: Matthew Keller escapes during a prison transfer. Neal is kidnapped. It's just another day in White Collar.

Disclaimer: I own nothing.

**Warning: Contains scenes of graphic torture. Reader digression is advised.**

* * *

**Pikuach Nefesh (פיקוח נפש)**

_A matter of life and death; one of the highest values in Judaism; the obligation to save a life in jeopardy, is considered a major value to uphold. According to pikuach nefesh a person must do everything in their power to save the life of another, even donate bodily organs._

_Any act that intentionally causes the death of another person (considered to be an act of murder), that injures a person so the potential for death from the injuries is high, or that otherwise creates a dangerous situation that will very likely put one or more lives at risk, is not permitted for the preservation of life. An exception in which killing another person is permitted is the case of a rodef (aggressor), who may be killed in order to save the life of oneself or another. This permits self-defense and wartime killings in Judaism._

* * *

Peter looked unhappy in his office as he sat yelling on the phone, his door shut tight so no one would here his voice raised. Neal, done with his paperwork, walked over to where Diana was pouring a cup of coffee. "What's going on with him?"

"I'm surprised you don't know. He's been in there all day like, just like before we caught you."

Neal frowned. "James didn't escape, did he?"

Diana shuttered. "I sure hope not." She pulled down a second mug and poured him a cup.

"Thanks. You didn't have to-"

"That's okay."

He eyed her suspiciously and leaned in close, speaking in a whisper. "You didn't tell Peter what I did to get James to confess, did you?" He spared a glance up at the Peter, "Because that's one of the few things I can think of that's worthy of him looking like he might spontaneously combust."

The door opened and he came out, fuming. "Jones, Diana, Neal- conference room now!"

The Israeli glanced at the FBI agent and the two grabbed their coffee and ran upstairs, where they were met by Jones. "Peter? What's wrong?"

Peter paced in front of the screen, running his hands though his hair, looking absolutely frustrated.

"Matthew Keller escaped during a transfer."

"What? How?" Jones asked.

"We don't know. The guards and driver were found dead. Keller was gone." Peter stopped pacing and looked up, "I set agents over to El's work. Do you think you could call Mozzie and have him keep her company?" Neal looked up from his phone.

"Already done."

"Why would he escape?" Diana asked, "He had it good. The Russians weren't going to kill him and he was being transferred where he'd have Cuban cigars and On Demand. So why escape?"

"That's the million dollar question."

* * *

It was ten hours later, and there were no leads. "Alright, let's call it a night and head home." Neal pulled on his suit jacket and Rossabi, who had recently moved to New York after he received an offer to join Peter's team in White Collar, gave him a look.

"If anyone can do the impossible, it's you."

"Well, let's hope its before Keller kidnaps Elizabeth again or worse. Good night."

There was a van following him, Neal realized as he walked down the sidewalk. He tried all the usual tricks, but nothing seemed to be dodge his tail. Reaching in his pocket, he dialed a singular word to a burner cell, hoping the number was still in use. The message didn't bounce, so he was relieved for the small bit of luck, as he kept walking, breaking into a run. Just when he thought he was almost safe, standing on June's doorstep about to open it, someone came up from behind him with a rag covered in chloroform. Try as might not to breath, he could still feel the drug's hold taking effect in his body. He woke up in a prison.

* * *

Matthew Keller sat in the small metal cell on the cot, trying to get some sleep, but the noise that his captors were playing over and over kept him awake. He'd been kidnapped during his transfer this morning and dumped in a cell that had only a cot and a small window on the door and a slot for food. Suddenly, the noise quit and the door opened and a masked man shoved a pretty young blonde woman in the cell. She cried out in pain as the door shut and he shot up. She looked around, speaking frantically in another language.

"I don't understand," he told her as clearly as he could.

"English? We're in America?" She spoke in heavily accented English and he nodded.

"I take it that's not where you started out."

"I was in Morocco. I was ambushed, knocked out, and brought here. I don't know how they found me. I shouldn't have gone to Marrakech. That was my mistake. And now he's going to kill me just to spite my dead brother." She laughed bitterly, "Ironic, isn't it?"

He moved over on the bed and she moved up to sit on it. The door opened and they threw another person in. "It's getting to be like a crawl space in here," Keller joked dryly. The man on the ground groaned and rolled over. "Caffrey? What did you do to piss these guys off?"

"I made a fool out of him," he winced as he tried to move his arm, "About ten years ago." He spotted the girl, "Hello Zarya. It's nice to finally meet you." Her expression flickered to confused. "I knew Simon," he explained as calmly as he could. He gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile, "I also know Annie."

Zarya softened at this, Keller noticed. "How is she?"

"She's good. She got home safe." The Russian nodded, smiling at this, before she laughed bitterly.

"You'd think that growing up in a family of spies would have taught me not to get myself caught."

Keller raised his eye at her, "Well, I'd like to know who these guys are and why I'm here."

Neal rolled his eyes, leaning back against the wall, "FSB turned Russian mob. They probably didn't buy your bullshit about stealing the treasure to return to Russia and resent paying your legal fees. They'd rather get use out of their investment, is my best guess."

"And the girl?"

"She escaped them and was the beloved sister of a very dangerous assassin and spy. They probably assume she could be used as leverage." He looked at Keller. "I take it you'd rather be in the prison that you have the cigars and eight-thousand dollar bottle wine waiting for you."

"Oh yeah. Before, they kept playing this awful noise loudly. Wouldn't let me sleep at all." He glanced at Neal, who looked like he was in a good deal of pain. "How's the shoulder?"

"How's the knee?" he responded sarcastically.

"Better, no thanks to you."

"Yeah, well, you kidnapped my friend and tried to kill me. What did you expect?" A horrible, mind wrenching noise came from the other side of the door and the three winced.

"I guess our social hour's over!" Keller yelled over the noise.

* * *

_"I imagine you would like to go home. I would like that for you too. All I need is for you to cooperate. My name is Alexei. Please tell me yours."_

_Navon glanced at his chains and leaned in, copying the other man's body language. He stuck with the closest thing to the truth. "Neal Caffrey."_

_"I see. I am from Sarajevo. And you?"_

_"St. Louis, Missouri, but I was born in D.C." Alexei frowned, sitting back. Again, Navon copied his body language._

_"You are not Neal Caffrey. Your name is Navon Chait and you are a Mossad operative."_

_Navon leaned in close, resting his arms on the table. "Two problems with that theory."_

_"And what's that?"_

_"Well, one, don't you have to be from Israel and you know, speak their language?"_

_Alexei frowned. "And the other problem?"_

_"I don't like guns." Navon smirked and leaned back._

_"You are too comfortable here to be American."_

_"If you want uncomfortable, go to America, get into WitSec, p- off a couple of Feds, or a major mob. Anything else is a game of chess."_

_"You like chess." Navon raised his brow. "You should know how to protect your king better then." Alexei stood and turned to leave._

_"Wait! Before you go, I had a camera in my clothes. Would you mind getting a picture of me like this? I've got a friend and he's real in to the whole Cold War spy games thing and I was thinking this'd be a great Christmas card."_

_"This is a prison!" Alexei exclaimed, outraged. Surely they hadn't been so far off in their intel, had they?_

_"I'm not asking to give tours around this place, just for a picture."_

_Alexei called to the guards in Russian, telling them to take the man back to his cell, then proceeded to write down what the younger man had told him. When he was done, he took the information to his bosses, who made a profile about Neal Caffrey in their system and deleted the picture of the man that they thought had been Navon Chait. In the meanwhile, Navon lay in his cell, eyes shut, trying to drowned out the noise with his thoughts._

* * *

Peter groaned as he listened to the other end of the phone. "What's wrong, hon?" El asked, sneaking up behind him.

"Neal cut his anklet."

"You think Keller grabbed him." It wasn't a question.

"It's possible." She kissed him.

"Go. He needs you to get him back safe." Peter pursed his lips.

"Come with me there. This way, I'll know you'll be safe."

* * *

Neal curled up in the back corner, trying to block out the sound, with Keller and Zarya sitting on the bed, despite Zarya's protests that he should be up there because of his injured shoulder.

"You should let me look at that shoulder," Keller said, standing up off the cot.

"It's fine. It's not broken, probably just dislocated."

"Well then it needs to be popped in." Keller knelt beside him, "On three… one…" He popped it back in and Neal yelped in pain. He glared back at Keller.

"What happen to two and three?" Zarya's lips twitched with a smile. Keller sat back down on the cot. Neal's head dropped between his knees as the noise grew louder.

* * *

_"I'm impressed. You have held out longer than most."_

_"Well, I'd like to think that's because they aren't as good as me," Navon quipped back._

_"The guards say you sit at think and that makes you unaffected. May I ask what you think about?"_

_"About what I'm going to steal when I get out of here. There's a rather nice Raphael in London that I'm pretty fond of. Or maybe I'll forge the Franklin bottle._ _Burmese Rubies are always tempting." He paused, looking at Alexei, smirking, "And there a music box that I'd really like to have. It's a real piece of art."_

_"You sit and plan heists?" Alexei looked appalled by this._

_"I've been told I have the attention span of a toddler."_

_"I can tell."_

* * *

"Any leads on where Caffrey ran to?" Kramer asked as he walked in the room, two days after Keller's 'escape'.

"I mean no disrespect, _sir_," Rossabi said, looking at the older man, "but the evidence points to him being kidnapped, not him cutting the anklet and running. So how much longer are we going to put up with this bullshit about him running?"

"I thought you meant no disrespect." The younger agent shrugged. "Does anyone else also feel this way?" Jones and Diana raised their hands. Kramer turned to Peter. "And you, Petey?"

Peter sighed loudly, "Based on the evidence that Keller's kidnapped before and has tried to kill Neal in the past, I think it is more likely that he kidnapped Neal."

Kramer frowned and nodded. "Then your team can follow that lead and I'll have another team follow up on Caffrey running."

A woman, dressed in FBI slacks and a purple top appeared in the doorway of White Collar as the four agents defended the stairs. "Agent Cruz? I thought you got transferred to Colorado."

"I'm just back for a bit. It's about Neal." She didn't meet the eyes of the other agents and didn't give anything away. "As it turns out, Neal and I have a mutual friend. He sent me the text that Neal sent him before he disappeared." She handed him her phone.

"'Pen'?"

"Him and Neal used to work together back before Neal Caffrey was his name. I got most of my information for my thesis from him. Apparently, he and Neal have a code. 'Pen' means that he is being tailed by someone who may be hostile."

"'Pen'?"

"I guess it's like a safe word that kids use with their parents. Anyways, Mingus-"

"The Angry Man of Jazz?"

Lauren looked amused at Peter. "And here I thought Elizabeth was the only one who liked jazz. But no, he just calls himself that, which kind of works because he's pretty temperamental. I left my shoes in the middle of the floor and I got a half hour lecture on the important of not leaving my shoes in the middle of the floor."

Rossabi snickered. "You think this is funny?" Peter asked him.

"A blind man trips over her shoes and she feels inconvenienced by it. Yeah, I think that's funny."

"So you know this 'Mingus'?" He nodded his head.

"I call him John the John, but I guess Mingus is a better name."

Peter looked between them. "Do I really want to know?"

* * *

_"Nobody's coming for you, _Neal_."_

_"I don't have anyone."_

_"Then what are you afraid of? That you'll be thought of as a traitor?"_

_"A traitor to who? You have to have a country in order to be a traitor."_

_"Then why don't you talk?"_

_"Because I have nothing to say."_

_"You have a silver tongue, Neal."_

_"Thank you, but I prefer gold."_

* * *

The noise cut out two days later and Zarya muttered a few words in Russian thanking the entire universe. And then the door opened. Two Russian military men entered and then the third man. Neal straightened, but didn't stand. "You may be wondering why you're here," Alexei Vershinin spoke.

"Just a tad," Neal replied, rolling his eyes.

"Neal Caffrey, nobody's still coming for you."

"You said that last time and then someone killed half your men and broke me out."

"And I suppose you still won't talk."

Neal shrugged. "You know me. I've got nothing to say."

Alexei stepped forward, running his finger though Zarya's hair. "I assume you've become acquainted with Simon's sister. Some people find it harder to suffer pain then to suffer pain themselves. After our time together last time, I will assume this is more like you. Tomorrow we shall see if I'm right."

Alexei walked out, followed by the two soldiers.

* * *

_The light was blinding in the room they were holding him in. He hadn't slept or eaten in over a week and he was tied up, naked except for his underwear, the last shred of decency his captors provided him with. The only people he had seen were the soldiers who brought him back and forth to the interrogation room and his interrogator, Alexei Vershinin. The noises where loud in his cell, and then there was no noise, they kept the lights flickering on and off._

_"You'd make things so much easier on yourself if you just cooperated." He turned to the soldiers and ordered in Russian. They left and came back with a bucket of water. Alexei threw a cloth over Navon's face, pinched his noise shut, and began pouring water over the prisoner's face, into his mouth, which had been forced opened. Navon squirmed and struggled against the bonds, the sickening crack of bones resounding through his ears as pain shot through his right arm, screaming even as he choked through the water. His body retched, gasping for air, but finding only water. And then, it stopped for one blessed minute, the cloth was removed from his face, and he was brought into brightness._

_"Who do you work for?" Alexei demanded._

_"N-N-No one," he coughed out. The cloth was slapped back over his face and the water came pouring over him again._

_He thrashed, trying to get free, trying to get what he so badly needed… air. He breathed in and the water came rushing into his lungs, burning all the way down as it came into his chest. He tried to hold his breath after that, but he needed air, and it felt like his head might explode from the lack of it. His mouth opened and he breathed in more water, screaming in agony as it felt like it was tearing through his body. His tears mixed with the water being poured over his face. His mind was racing, trying to find a way out of there, but it could stay focused or coherent long enough to come up with a real plan, it just kept whispering to him, _"You need to get out of here… you need to get out of here…"

_Hours passed like this, with Alexei pouring water, stopping, pulling the cloth from his face and asking him questions that he wouldn't answer. And every time, the mind-numbing panic overtook his body. It was terrifying, the thought that he was going to die in some underground Russian prison and no one would know, no one would care. This was it, this was really it. He was going to die… there was no way out… it was the only way to free himself from the pain so intense that he'd take being shot multiple times over this. His lungs were on fire, his broken arm cried out in protest against his struggles, his mind felt fuzzy and every time he breathed in, his inhaled water. And then, sweet, sweet mercy, it stopped._

_"Stop," Alexei ordered as he removed the cloth and Navon heaved out the water onto the floor beside him, or what of it would come out. He cough and gagged and choked, panting heavy. "You are very good at this. Most people would have broken by now, but you're not most people, are you?" Navon didn't answer, still to busy trying to get the much needed air in his lungs. "It is important for you to hear that you are better than the others, isn't it? I'm guessing you didn't hear it much at home. They don't care about you. Nobody will miss you," the man voice Navon's worse fears._

_"Good. I have no one to miss," he spat out with his last ounce of strength._

_"It's in your best interest to just tell us what you know. We know you are a spy. You won't be called a traitor; that word has no meaning to you anymore. It hasn't had for a long time."_

_"It'll always have meaning. If I'm a spy, then 'I only regret that I have but one life to give for my country.'"_

_It was made quickly apparent that Alexei didn't like this comment, as he ordered, in Russian, for one of the soldiers to break Navon's fingers, starting with his left hand, one at a time. Each slow crack, the sharpness that cut through his hand as the fingers bent back, snapping like twigs. He cried out, begging for the pain to stop. When that didn't break him, they heated up metal objects, pliers and fire irons, searing them into his skin, taking great pleasure as he sob and shouted, watching the metal burn into his flesh. At one point, he could have sworn he felt the press the lighter to his leg and flick it. He screamed until his throat burned for an entirely different reason, until it felt raw. His mind kept telling him to block it out, he'd be okay, just let go. _

_He blacked out from the pain and woke up to the sounds of gunfire._

* * *

"Caffrey, you with me?" There was no response.

"Maybe you should try slapping him? I saw it once in a movie and it worked there." Keller took Zarya's suggestion and slapped Neal across the face, hard. He was greeted with a hard push to his left shoulder and a hand slamming into his right shoulder blade, pressing him face first into the mattress.

"Ow! Easy, Caffrey!" Neal fell back against the wall, releasing the other man. Keller straightened up, "You were in shock. We'd been calling at you for the past, what, twenty minutes and you didn't answer."

"It's true," Zarya told him, "You were just staring blankly at the wall." She studied the Israeli's face carefully. "He tortured you, didn't he?" Neal eyed her, then nodded.

"I owe you brother my life. That's why I'm going to get you out of here."

She smiled at this and kissed Neal's forehead. "Thank you. You should get some rest. It sounds like we'll have a busy day tomorrow." The Russian looked to Keller, "You too, Matthew." She kissed the other man's cheek, the one that was more bruised from where Neal had slammed it into the cot. Deciding to follow her advice, the two men laid down on the cot, the Russian girl in the middle, between of them, and Neal with his back to the wall.

* * *

_Navon jerked awake in his cell- how did he get to his cell?- as gunfire echoed through the halls of the prison. There were shouts and yelling and he stood, careful of his arm and fingers as he peeked out of the window on the door. A man approached and opened it, grabbing lesser injured of his arms and led him down the hall, where he motioned to a tunnel. Navon went through it and was met with daylight. He had to squint against it, unaccustomed to the sun after his weeks underground. He turned to the man who had saved him. "We have to go. They won't be far behind," the man spoke, motioning to a car that he unlocked._

_"W-w-who a-a-re you?" Navon managed to get out._

_"My name's Simon Fischer."_

* * *

The noise started back up again sometime in the middle of the night, or what Neal thought might be night. Trying not to wake her or Keller, he slipped from the cot, trying to find something, anything, that he could use as a weapon. He found a shard of glass on the floor in the corner, something that they must have missed when cleaning out the cell from the last use of it. It would serve well enough for a distraction. He striped off his suit jacket, button-down shirt, and finally his undershirt, ripping a piece out of the back of the undershirt to wrap around the bottom of the glass to make a shank. It would serve his purposes well enough.

"You're going to kill him, aren't you?"

"If I don't, he'll kill Zarya and then he'll escalate."

"You're not a killer, Neal." He softened for a moment. It was rare for Keller to call him by his first name.

"Neal Caffrey is just a name." He looked up at Keller, "Simon Fischer and I, we're the same. The only difference is that he took a bullet to the chest and I got arrested." Neal looked back down, "My step-father always said that one day I would get caught, it was just a question of when and where and how. He said that when I got caught, to make sure it was on my terms, keep my head down, and remember my manners in prison."

"You don't have to kill him," Keller said, sitting down, facing him, his legs stretched out in front of him. "I could do it."

"No. I made the mistake of letting him live last time. I should have hunted him down and killed him and instead I let him live and people I care about have suffered because of it. It's my mess and I'll clean it up."

Keller studied him with careful eyes. Neal's eyes were cold, they held no trace of compassion or emotion. It was then he had little doubt that Neal was a killer. "You know, first time we met, I thought you were a spy. You were just too good at being a conman." Neal smirked and gave a weak laugh and Keller continued, "You said Neal Caffrey's just a name. Do you even remember what your real one was?"

"Which real one? I have three. And all three are legal."

"Three?" For a man who had used the same name through his whole life, the was incomprehensible.

"The name my father gave me, the name my mother gave me, and the last name my step-father gave me." He smirked. "But Neal was the first first name I ever had." He didn't offer more details. Keller didn't ask. Neal tucked the shank in his pocket and leaned against the wall beside Keller. "So tomorrow, I'm going to need you to keep her safe." Keller gave him a confused look, and Neal elaborated. "When the guards come, they'll take me first. Alexei will try to get me to talk, and then they'll come back for her. I want you to run interference on the guards, keep them from taking Zarya out of the room."

"I can do that." What Keller didn't say was, "You can trust me," or "I have your back." He knew better than to give out words that Neal wouldn't accept. "Do you think all your fed friends are looking for us?"

"Yes. They were looking for you when I left. And Kramer will probably swear that I ran."

"How bad was it?" He almost sounded worried.

"They think you killed the driver and the guards."

"I didn't."

"I know." Keller looked up, surprised. "Once I realized that Alexei was involved…"

"How did you figure that out? You knew before he came in."

"I woke up in the van on the way here. I heard them speaking. You don't forget the voice of the man who tied you up and tortured you. Trust me," Neal added. They were quiet after that.

* * *

Morning came and what Neal said was true. The guards took him to an interrogation room and locked him to a chair across from Alexei, before they left. "Good morning. I trust you slept well." Neal glared, pulling a pin from the inside of his suit sleeve as he began to pick the locks on his cuffs. "Yes, I know. You won't tell me anything. You don't know anything. You have no country. You have nothing to say." The lock on his right arm clicked open as Alexei opened the briefcase on the table and pulled out a picture of a much younger Neal and Simon, talking to an young American-Indian man. He began working on the left. "Two of the people in the people are dead. I know you could care less if you join their ranks. However, I know that you respected Simon and will feel as though you owe him to protect his sister. The only way to protect her is to tell me what you three were talking about."

"I asked them for directions," Neal replied as the second lock clicked and the handcuffs slipped off.

"Wrong answer." Alexei pulled out another picture, one of a pretty girl with her mother's blonde hair and blue eyes. "You recognize her, don't you?" He pulled out a second picture, one of Neal hugging her in Central Park.

"I can't say what we talked about."

"Then write it down." He pulled out a pad and a piece of paper. "And do not say you are left handed."

"Well, so much for that then." The words were sarcastic, but they were followed by moves that were quick as lightning, swift and practiced, fluid even. Neal reached up, grabbing the man around the collar before he had the chance to respond, slamming the man's head into the table. Alexei fought back against him, grabbing his gun, but Neal let go of the man's head and slammed his arm against the table as the man pulled the trigger. The gun fell to the floor with a second shot fired. The two struggled, a task made more difficult by the table between them, but Neal gained leverage on him, pulling out his shank as the other man struggled. "You made one mistake," Neal to Alexei as he wrapped the man's tie around his hand, keeping him close.

"And what's that?" the man choked.

"Well, there was more than one. Shall I start with threatening the girl?" He tightened his grip, "Or should I start with kidnapping me?"

The Russian struggled, but Neal didn't notice as he stabbed the glass through the back of the man's neck. His face was cold and his eyes were fixed on the picture on the table of Rebekah. He couldn't save Chanah or Simon, but he could save her daughter and his sister. "Jesus, Neal!" he heard Keller exclaim from the other side of the room and his eyes snapped up. It was then he realized that Alexei's body was hanging limply from the tie, the shank embedded deeply inside his neck. He released the tie and dropped his hands like they burned.

"How'd you get out?"

"Zarya started yelling that she'd talk, I hit, when they opened the door to get her, we ambushed them and took their weapons. We came to rescue you." Neal reached down for the gun on the floor that Alexei had dropped.

"Thanks. I appreciate that."

"I thought I might be able to stop you from killing him. It was premeditated. There'll be people who'll try to gun for you this time 'round in prison." He almost sounded worried.

"I don't need _you_ to protect me." A loud clang came from the end of the hallway and both men ran out. Zarya was pointing her gun at Eyal and Diana, who were both holding their weapons aimed at her. "Hey, wait, it's okay." Diana raised her eyebrow at him and lowered her weapon, as did Zarya. Eyal, reluctantly, followed their lead and lowered his as well. "Where's Peter?"

"Following another lead. Although I take it our lead was the better one." Neal knew in the back of his mind that what Diana was really saying is that she went rogue with his brother to find him. It was sweet.

"I tried to return your call," Eyal told him with that smirk that they must have inherited from their mother, "But I didn't have your phone number. You weren't doing anything today, were you?"

"Do you use that line on everyone you rescue?" Zarya asked him, rolling her eyes, "It sounded far to practiced to be your first time." The older Israeli smirked.

"The guards are in the cell," Keller told Diana, "Feel free to cuff them, or me. I liked my prison cell with cigars and expensive liquor. It'd be better than this place." Diana chuckled and cuffed him.

"Who's the girl?"

"Zarya Fischer," she introduced herself. His brother's eyes met his, asking all the questions he didn't want to say in front of everyone, and Neal nodded.

"There's a body in the interrogation room," he told Diana, facing up to his choices, "His name is Alexei Vershinin. He's a former FSB interrogator with mob connections. I killed him." Eyal's fist clenched.

"The same Alexei Vershinin who-" he didn't need to finish his sentence for Neal to know where it was headed.

"Yeah." The FBI agent nodded.

"I'll come up with a story." She nodded towards the exit. "That way's out. I'll call for backup once we're out." Zarya nodded, following the FBI agent who was leading Keller away in cuffs.

"You got my text," he said to Eyal in Hebrew as the followed the trio, "I wasn't sure if the number was still good."

"I forwarded it to Eliana. She brought the information to your friends."

"Thank you." They were quiet as they ascended to the surface and the three prisoners saw sunlight for the first time in days. "How long we were gone?" he asked Diana after she had called in for the paramedics and called Peter.

"Four days. It would have been longer, but your brother had a hunch." Neal smiled.

"He never told you his name, did he?" The agent raised her brow, "You always call him 'your brother'."

"He didn't. So?"

"It's Eyal." Her eyes darted to the taller man who was speaking to someone over the phone, "I trust you."

"And I appreciate that. But we have something important to do now. There's going to be questions about how you killed the guy down there, and why you did it, and the weapon you killed him with."

"He threatened to torture Zarya because he mistook me for someone else and then threatened to kill my niece. I fought a piece of glass and I figured that it was possible that he would resort to violence and it was better if I was armed. We struggled, I managed to get the upper hand and stabbed him. I didn't realize what had happened until after Keller yelled."

"That sounds suspiciously like the truth."

"'And you shall know the truth and the truth shall make you free.'"

"Wrong agency," she quipped.

"But the right idea." He looked at her, "In my line of work, I've learned that you want to keep your lies as close to the truth as possible." She eyed him.

"So what didn't you say in that?"

Neal smirked, and in the second, despite being kidnapped and held hostage by a man who wrecked seemed to have havoc on his mind and emotions, looked exactly like she'd pictured Neal Caffrey, er, Navon Chait the spy.

"But I'll never tell."

* * *

Bonus Features:

• "I'm not asking to give tours around this place, just for a picture."  
This is based off of a quote from the Pilot of Castle, where Castle asks Beckett for photos of the crime scene to take to his mystery writers' poker night. As for Neal's friend, use your imagination. This is pre-Mozzie.

• "I mean no disrespect, sir," Rossabi said, looking at the older man, "but the evidence points to him being kidnapped, not him cutting the anklet and running. So how much longer are we going to put up with this bullshit about him running?"  
"I thought you meant no disrespect."  
Based off of Auggie and Arthur's conversation in Rock n Roll Suicide. Neal's interrogations are also based off of Annie's in this same episode.

• Cruz was in the FBI's organized crime unit, before she was transferred to White Collar for undercover work. She disappeared without a real explanation. My explanation is she's really Mossad, sent to check up on Neal who is still an active field agent at this time. Her name is Eliana Shalit.

• Mingus is Auggie's code met Auggie in the Pilot. Auggie called Rossabi a 'sightist' and asked for somebody more open-minded. It was when Annie was pretending to be a high-end prostitute and Auggie was pretending to be "a client, a john as they say, which is ironic since my name is John."

• Alexei Vershinin was also Annie's interrogator in Rock n Roll Suicide. Eyal gave him his 'clean' passport to get out of the country, but I made his problems a bit deeper than just embezzling. And yes, he mostly wants to kill Keller because Keller is good at pissing people.

• This isn't the first time Neal's suffered flashbacks like this. It's likely that after seeing the awful things he did and being tortured, he suffers relapses of PTSD, even though most of the time it seems like he's fine.

• "I tried to return your call," Eyal told him with that smirk that they must have inherited from their mother, "But I didn't have your phone number. You weren't doing anything today, were you?"  
Eyal used a similar line with Annie in Rock n Roll Suicide. "Sorry to drop in unannounced. I didn't have your phone number. You weren't doing anything today, were you?"

* * *

Review? Anyone? Am I writing this for me or is anyone enjoying this? I know I'm amazing, but I'm not psychic... despite what some may say.


	9. From Chait to Caffrey

From Chait to Caffrey

How an Israeli Spy became an American Conman

* * *

He was turning eighteen when Ellen asked to meet him in Jerusalem.

He still had never figured out how he managed to get there without being followed. His step-father was at work and his mother was at Chanah's school, where she had made a spectacular mess of things when she "accidentally" made a knock out nerve gas in the chemistry lab that had wound up with another kid in the hospital. He knew he came from a family of geniuses, but his baby sister was downright brilliant. Eyal was had started college and Neal had expressed a desire to join the _Mishteret Yisrael_, or the civilian police force, but only to Ellen. His parents wouldn't understand, especially considering they were both Mossad. He first went to the train station, just to be safe, and bought a ticket to Haifa. He climbed on the train but had jumped off at the last second into the crowd. Then, he took his forged ID and bought a bus ticket to Jerusalem.

Navon met Ellen at the _Ein Karem_, the birthplace of _Yohanan ha-mmatbil_…who was also known as John the Baptist. It was a popular tourist spot, which was probably why she had picked it. After checking once more for a tail, he headed there to meet her.

"Happy birthday," his birth father's former partner smiled at him, speaking in English. She was one of the few people he spoke to in English. "I would have gotten you something, but I didn't know what you might like."

"It's okay. It's nice seeing you."

"You too. Thank you for coming here." Ellen seemed nervous.

"What did you want to talk about?"

"Your father." He looked at her in surprise. "Please don't get upset."

"Upset? What for?"

"I know you want to be a cop, but-"

"Like Dad. He was a hero and I want to be like him." Ellen shook her head.

"He wasn't a hero." Navon's eyebrows furrowed in confusion, like she had just told him two plus two didn't equal four. "He was a dirty cop. He's not dead. He's in prison. He killed another cop."

"But… what are you talking about? Ima said that my father died when I was two, that he had died in a hail of bullets from the bad guys, that he was a hero-" His words were frantic and confused and for the first time in a very long time, she say a scared, lost little boy.

"Your mother lied, Neal."

He reeled back as if she had slapped him, his face full of horror. "Who's Neal?"

Ellen quickly realized her mistake. "You are," she said softly, handing him a birth certificate. "He didn't get formally sentence until you were two and when he did, she changed your name legally. It was his idea to name you Neal. She always called you Navon." He stared at the words on the page in horror. "I'm sorry. I wanted to tell you, but she didn't want to say anything. She didn't want you to have to deal with this."

His face went cold, then calm. "Thank you for telling me, Ellen." He turned away and started walking. She tried to follow, but he disappeared in the crowd. Ellen sighed.

* * *

Navon stepped into the home he grew up in. There were smells drifting down the hall from the kitchen, so that where he head. He slammed the folder that had his real birth certificate down on the table.

"Navon!" his mother jumped, "Where have you been? I got a phone call saying that you left school in the middle of the day and didn't come back." She noticed the folder. "What is this?"

"Why don't you tell me?" Aya Lavin frowned, opening it gingerly, but recognition flickered over her face as she realized what it was.

"How did you find out?"

"Ellen told me. Because apparently, even though she's an ocean and a continent away, she felt guilty about lying to me." His words were spoken with barely masked hostility.

"I was going to tell you. Not like this."

"Well it's a little late for that!"

"I was a different person then, Navon. I was trying to protect you. Your father, your birth father, he had enemies, and I had plenty of my own enemies. It was safer if you didn't know."

"_Lehi lehizdayen!_" he shouted back at her, looking furious. He didn't notice, or didn't care, about the crowd of his family that he had drawn in.

"What's going on in here?" Navon ignored Noam Lavin's question, storming out of the house.

* * *

Eyal and Chanah found him on the promenade in Jaffa. He knew he must have been a mess, because his sister hesitated before she slipped her arms around him, squeezing him tight. "Please don't hate me too." She seemed scared and upset, so Navon smoothed her blonde curls and wrapped his arm around her.

"I don't hate you." He glanced back at his brother. "You didn't know, did you?"

"No. I would have told you." He stepped up beside them.

"I trusted her." He sounded so lost and his siblings' hearts both panged. "I trust her and Abba and neither of them could be bother to tell me the truth. I had to find out from a stranger."

"I sure she had her reasons. I'm not defending them, I'm just saying that they have many secrets. I'm not sure I'd really want to know all of them." Eyal looked at him, "This doesn't have to change things."

"That's easy for you to say," he said, looking back towards the water, "You didn't find out that your whole life has been a lie."

"Maybe. But not all of it has been. You're still my little brother."

"And my big brother," Chanah quipped in, smiling hopefully at him.

"I don't know who I am anymore."

"Why do you have to be anything? Just let the current take you where it wants." Navon looked at him.

"That's easy for you to say. You're perfect. You've got the beautiful wife, are going to school, just like they want. I'm a mistake."

"Don't say that!" Chanah exclaimed, pushing away from him, "You can't be a mistake. Eyal, tell him he's wrong!"

Eyal nodded his head in agreement. "You are wrong, little brother, you're many things, but a mistake is not one of them." He motioned towards where he had parked his car. "Now come on. I have a friend at the _Muze'on Tel Aviv Lamanut_ who says that there's a new exhibit. That should give both you and Ima some time to calm down." Navon nodded and the three took off.

* * *

It was his first day of work at the Institute for Intelligence and Special Operations. "Wait up!" someone behind him called. Navon turned around to see a pretty dark hair girl approach him. "It's my first day too."

"That obvious?"

"You don't have an ID badge either." Navon chuckled. "Shoshanah Avraham. But please call me Tara. Everyone does."

"Navon Chait. It's a pleasure to meet you, Miss Avraham." She blushed as the two headed inside the door that Navon held open for them. "Nervous?"

"Yes, and excited. My parents don't approve. They wanted me to be a model. How about you?"

"They're thrilled. I just told them that I was going to be continuing their work. I think they're positive I'm doing this out of a need to get revenge on them." Tara laughed quietly and Navon steered them towards the guards desk. "Navon Chait-Levin."

"Shoshanah Avraham," she told them and the ID badge making process began.

"Navon Levin?" a dark hair girl asked, standing up from the chair she was waiting in as he exited the screening room.

"Chait," he corrected automatically.

"Sorry?"

"It's Navon Chait. I don't go by Levin."

"Eliana Shalit. I'm your handler. This way." He eyed her as they walked.

"You don't look like you fit the profit for here. So what made you join?"

Eliana stopped short. "Look, I am here to send you out and bring you home. I am not here to be your friend and I have better things to do than babysit the newbie."

"I think that you'll find that being my friend is much better than being my enemy, Ms. Shalit." He started walking towards where he knew he was assigned, but paused and looked back at her. "And I don't need a babysitter. I grew up here." He gave her a smirk, and walked away, leaving her stunned. It took her a couple of minutes, but he could hear her coming up behind him.

"I'm not supposed to let you out of my sight. You could get into somewhere that you don't have the clearance to see."

"Sweetheart, I can guarantee you that my clearance is the same as yours. I read your file; didn't you read mine?" Her mouth opened, but she couldn't think of what to say. He smirked at her and she sighed, giving in. Little did she know just how much she was in for.

* * *

Navon was a master at backgammon, which was fortunate, since the world backgammon finals at the Grand Casino in Monaco was where the CIA had scheduled for a simple, run of the mill brush pass with Mossad. He had gotten there early to scope out the pace and wound up playing as well. There was a player who would be a valuable asset and he planned on turning them before the game was done. His contact would be wearing a watch with a brown leather strap on their left arm and a green striped tie.

He was going by his birth name, or part of it, as George Blanch, a business man with a interest in backgammon. It was a pretty solid alias, with a backstory and everything. "You're bad for business," the man who took the seat across from him said.

"I'm sorry, Mr. …?"

"Keller. Matthew Keller."

"George Blanch." Keller's eyes narrowed.

"What's your game?" Navon raised his eyebrow.

"Backgammon, obviously."

Keller didn't trust this guy, he realized as he watched him. He was too smooth and too charming. And what was with him switching briefcases with that guy like he did?

"Mr. Blanch, why don't you join me for a drink in my suite later tonight?" The man smiled, all blue eyes and charm.

"I'll do that."

* * *

Navon called back to Eliana. "I'm staying an extra night. I'm making friends. I need you to book my suite for an extra night and put back my flight home."

"Who are these friends that you're making?"

"Eh… no one you'd be interested in." He smiled. He could almost picture her rolling her eyes from the other end.

"Oh, honey, you can find your own way home if that's how you're going to play."

"Don't tempt me. Maybe I will." Eliana went silent. She knew he would too. He heard her sigh.

"Don't even think about it, Dino. How's 10:15 tomorrow?"

"Sounds great. See you tomorrow." He clicked the phone off, pulling on a jacket before he headed out.

"Mr. Keller," Navon greeted the man as he opened the door.

"Mr. Blanch. So glad you could make it." Navon strode in confidently, taking a seat on the settee. Keller poured them drinks, handing Navon one while staying on his feet. It looked like he was at a loss in the physical battle, but he didn't know who Navon was, or that the Israeli spy knew three forms of martial arts. He didn't know that the man was studying him the same way he was studying him.

"What is it you'd like, Mr. Keller?"

"I know you're a conman and a thief. I know about that briefcase you stole and know you probably don't want that reported to the authorities." Navon raised his eyebrow as Keller smirked. "I have a job, but it's a two person job."

"Alright. You've got twelve hours. I have to be at the airport at nine tomorrow. I've got a flight to catch."

Keller's smile faltered. "The tournament's not over yet."

"But my business is."

The other man stayed quiet for a moment. "This can't be done in twelve hours."

"Pick a country."

"What?"

"Pick a country, any country, and I'll meet you there for a job. I get half the take." Navon drained his drink and set it down on the coffee table, standing up. "This has been a pleasure, but I'm going to go turn in. I have an early morning."

* * *

Navon was sitting in the stacks, reading a file on Matthew Keller. Eliana walked in, putting a file away and pulling out another.

"You know, using company resources to play your game is highly unethical."

"And using them to check out your dates isn't?" His handler smiled.

"Like they weren't going to do it anyways. I was just saving them the time and effort." Neal chuckled and Eliana handed him an envelope. "Here."

"What's this?"

"A plane ticket to where Keller's spending the weekend. Go beat this guy, would you?"

He smirked. "I thought using company resources to play my game was unethical."

"Yeah, well you were going to do it anyways." He stood up, putting Keller's file back where it belonged, before he walked out. "Have fun," she called after him.

* * *

Simon patted Navon on the back as they got off the mats from where they had been sparring, and he winced in pain. "You're getting better." The Russian paused, studying the man's shirt. "Take your shirt off. You ripped your stitches." The Israeli did as the other man said and pulled the article of clothing off, "Why didn't you say something?"

"Wasn't worth it. Wasn't bothering me."

"It'll scar."

"Let it," Navon growled. "I put in four years of work there, good work, and the minute I need help, they deny all knowledge. You gotta wonder why it's worth it sometimes, don't you?"

Simon sighed, pouring the Israeli a drink, handing it to him as he went to get the first aid kit. "I have to believe what I'm doing is making a difference, that someone is alive and living their life because of my actions." Neither man acknowledged that the younger man was proof of this. Instead, he just cleaned the torn skin and tried to fix it back together. "You're a good agent, Navon. I know he said a lot of things to you in there, but you really did do well. There aren't many people who would have lasted anywhere near as long as you did." Simon took in the jaded look in the man's eyes, the pain, the grief. "Something happened to you, something that made you think you deserved every bit of what was happening in there. But you have to snap out of it. Find something you like doing now, even if it means getting out."

"Why?" Navon asked him, taking a sip, letting the alcohol burn all the way down.

"Because we're not just pawns in their game. You have a right to live as much as anyone. If you have to find some abandoned island to do that, so be it, but don't let the guilt over any of what you have to do get you killed."

"You don't know what I've done." His eyes flickered over to the picture of the girl on the end table next to the sofa. "If your sister got killed and you were responsible for her death, what would you do?" Simon froze, his hand dropping into his lap as he sat back.

"I don't know." He pulled his shirt down so that his shoulder blade showed and he turned slightly to give the man a better angle to see it. "She's my bright star, the thing anchors me in this very crazy would we live in." He fixed his shirt and turned back to Navon, "Find yourself an anchor and the guilt you feel will lessen because you'll have found something to live for. And as long as you honor her memory, then I don't think that you should let the guilt kill you."

* * *

"This is awful," a voice with an English accent said, sitting in the middle of the apartment as Navon walked in.

"Sorry I can't accommodate your palette," he replied dryly, "Not all of our companies give us six figure pay checks for each job we do."

Simon chuckled, "It's not about how much money they give you, it's about how you invest the money. I once turned fifty pounds into fifty thousand pounds in two weeks."

"That's nice. What are you doing here?"

"How would you like to make more money than you ever could spend in your life?" The Israeli eyed the Russian.

"What would I have to do?"

"Nothing bad, I promise. Tomorrow at noon. I'll find you."

* * *

The Russian operative found him at the Cafe Mezada on Hayarkon Street. There was a gentle breeze coming off the water. With him, was a man with dark skin and hair, that if Navon had to guess, was probably Indian.

"Navon Chait, this is Jai Wilcox."

"He's a child!" Jai, exclaimed.

Navon rolled his eyes. "Yeah, okay. I'm a child." He glanced at Simon. "What's he got to do with anything?"

Simon took a breath in and sat down. Grudgingly, Jai followed. "He's brought us on to some of the information." Navon eyed him and Simon passed over a sheet of paper, which the Israeli scanned over.

"It's a list. Who are all these names?" Simon and Jai both looked at him.

* * *

"_Oy vey_!" Eyal exclaimed, taking safe haven in Navon's apartment.

"How did you get in? I know I didn't give you the new keys." His older brother shrugged.

"You need knew locks."

"I'll take that under advisement." He went to the cabinet, pulling out two glasses and a bottle of vodka with its label printed in Russian. "Long day?"

"I just told _Ima_ that I had joined Mossad and that's why I wasn't going back to medical school." Navon grimaced in sympathy.

"How'd your wife take it?"

"No where nearly as bad as our parents did. _Ima_ swears that I'm trying to kill her." Eyal drained the entire glass, then blinked in surprise. "Where did you get this?"

"A friend of mine. He guaranteed that it would make you feel good now, but wish you were dead tomorrow." His brother eyed the bottle.

"Pass it here." Navon did and Eyal poured a full glass, drank that, and poured another. "That's a good friend you have."

Navon smirked, clinking his glass and his brother's together, "_L'chayim_." In the process of him toasting, his sleeve came up and the scars on his arm showed.

"Whoa!" Eyal grabbed his brother's arm, pulling up the sleeves. "What the hell happened here?" He studied the scarring, the way it continued up underneath the shirt. The younger man stayed quiet. "Navon, what is this?"

Navon looked down at where his brother was gripping his arm. "It's classified." He jerked his arm away and took a drink.

"Don't pull that b- on me. When did this happen? Where? No, you don't have to answer when. It was when you disappeared completely, when Eliana came over to my house and asked if I had heard from you, wasn't it? I know torture marks when I see them, Navon. Who did this to you?"

"His name was Alexei Vershinin. That's all I can tell you."

Eyal grumbled unhappily under his breath, pacing the apartment in anger. It was then that he noticed the packed bags sitting in the entrance way. "You're leaving."

"Tomorrow."

"Navon, you weren't even home for her fune-"

"No! Please, can we just not talk about this now?"

"Have you even visited her since?" Navon closed his eyes in pain, the grief clear across his face.

"Eyal, can we not fight tonight? Please?" His brother acquiesced and they sat down for drinks in silence.

* * *

"Alright! Follow the lady! All you gotta do is follow the lady. I'm mixin' fast but if your eyes are faster, you win. Simple as that." It was a street con artist, but it was still catchy.

"Lady's in the middle," a man in glasses and a toupee said, pointing at the card. The man turned it over.

"You've got good peepers, pal. Wanna double up?"

"Sure."

"Toss in. You're saying that you can follow her, but I don't think you can. It's all a game of you versus me. Alright here we go, here we go. Where is she, where is she? Watch her, watch her. Oh, she's a sneaky lady, but I think she likes you."

"She's on my right," toupee man said and Navon couldn't help but correct him.

"She's back in the middle." He had done this same trick with enough Mossad officers when he was a kid to know where the lady really was.

"Are you crazy? She's definitely on the right."

"Hey! It's his money, kid," the con said as toupee man flipped over the card on his right, a ten of spades. "Ah, she's sneakin' around on you boss."

"Lucky guess. If you're so good at this, why don't you put your own money down?"

"Whatcha got?"

"Alright," Navon said, pulling out his wallet, the one that said he was Neal Caffrey. It was the same ID he'd given to Alexei all those months ago and his scars had faded enough for him to wear short sleeves again. Simon had assured him that since this ID was in Russian databases now, that anyone searching would find something. It was a solid alias. He put fifty down on the table.

"Fifty? Come on, really take this guy."

"Time to put up or shut up, kid."

"Alright, let's go five hundred." He counted out the bills, trying to remember all the times he'd conned those agents out of their lunch money or, as he got older, car keys. The crowd seemed to appreciate it.

"Alright, it looks like I hooked me a whale here. Looky looky, hey diddle diddle, the queen's in the middle. Follow her fast, follow her slow. My hands are fast, your eyes are slow. Take that little lady and you win, my man. All you gotta do is show me the smile on the lady's face and you walk away with it all." The con stopped shuffling. Navon put his finger on the card on his left. "You sure?"

"Yeah, he's sure," Toupee guy said.

"I'm sure." He slipped the queen onto the table heads up, then took the cash. "Fun game. Thank you, man. You toss it all very well." With that, he walked away.

A knock on his door made him look up. He didn't spook as easily as he had, not like he used to just after Simon had found him, and he wasn't reaching for the Beretta 418 he kept hidden away just in case. He was a fan of the classics, but he wasn't stupid and knew that would only go so far, which was why he had a Ruger P89 he also had hidden in case the occasion arose. He tucked the money he'd been counting inside a book as the person knocked for a second time. He opened the door, keeping the chain locked, just in case.

Toupee guy stood outside. "I'm the guy from the park." He closed the door and the guy knocked again. "Hey, I'm not here to give you hospital time, kid."

Yeah, like he was going to let that happen again anytime soon. "Good, 'cause I'm not giving you your money back." Not with what Mossad gave him to spend on this mission and said 'make it work'. He was going to pick up money anywhere he could find it.

"Ah, keep it."

He unlocked the door. "What's your angle?"

"Look, I've been running Find the Lady for years and even I didn't catch that swap." Yeah, kind of the point.

"Uh, where's your partner?"

"I left him."

"Why?" He might be overly suspicious and paranoid, but it'd keep him alive. The guy shrugged.

"I need an upgrade." Navon sighed and let him in.

* * *

"There he is. Our white whale," Toupee guy, Mozzie as he had learned was the man's name, "What did you find out about him?" He handed Navon the binoculars.

He recalled the Mossad file that he had read on his target, his mark, before he left. "Well, he's the CEO of Alder Financial Management and he runs a top hedge fund."

"Good. What'd he bring in?"

That was in the file, but he couldn't remember it. Tara had come into the Stacks then and they had gotten distracted talking about the Israeli versus Greek beaches, and whether the Rivera or the Italian coast was a more overrated spot to do a brush pass. "I don't know."

"Never say that. Know everything. Adler made a hundred fifty million last year, up eight percent from the prior year." He lifted his index finger, "Know thine enemy and you will win. Sun Tzu."

"Alright." This guy was more demanding than Mossad and Simon put together, and he never thought he'd meet someone more demanding than Simon. "What's the con?"

"Well, Adler moves a hefty percentage of his profits into an account in the Caymens every six months."

"Tax free."

"Exactly." He turned back to Navon, "All we need to reroute his next wire transfer is two pieces of information: account number and password. That's where you come in."

"Where does he keep it? Personal safe? Deposit box?"

"In his head. He's too smart to keep it anywhere else." Oh no. That was troubling. He knew how easy it was to keep information in his head forever. The scars from Russia may have faded, but each one left another wall between the outside world and the information that he would tell the world.

"I can't just walk up and ask him for it. That's impossible." And he was pretty sure the U.S. government would have problems with him taking one of their highest grossing CEO's and torturing him for information. Not that he would, of course, but he knew a particularly awful prison in Russia that might make the man talk.

Mozzie, however, had other ideas. "A wise man once said, 'It's fun to do the impossible.'"

"Bertand Russell?"

"Walt Disney." He started to walk off. "You should read more." Navon followed him. "Our clock is five months. You ingratiate yourself, become a trusted friend, then convince him to tell you." And if he got lucky, he could do all and manage to turn him into an asset against his terrorist buddies.

"Why don't you do it?" Why was the other man including him?

"I'm more the behind the scenes guy." So you're like a handler, he thought. He could deal with that. Especially because his handler was about ready to saw off his toes for making her worry about him for months on end and doing the unthinkable for her, actually caring about an operative. "Okay, look at me and then look in the mirror. Who has a better chance of charming Adler at the charity dinner on Friday?" Mozzie handed him a flier.

"Antiquities Recovery Project." He read through the pamphlet. "It's five grand a plate. I can't afford that." If he spent five grand on this, he wouldn't eat for a week or more. And while he did know how to stretch his meals thin, he didn't really feel like stretching them that thin. Five grand was more than he made in two months!

"You can if you cash in a few more of your bonds." That was risky. They were supposed to be exchanged for the real bonds and the real ones were supposed to be sent back home. Cashing them in, he would have to make more.

* * *

He was at the bank at Midtown, First Unity Bank. Mozzie was waiting outside. "Hey."

"Did you get it?"

"Yeah." He unzipped the pouch and pulled out a lollipop. "The teller was a sweetheart."

"Aw, she gave you a sucker. You know, the irony of that would not be lost on Alanis Morissette." Navon chuckled.

"This guy's a forger," they heard a voice say, "He's good."

"What?"

"Shh," Mozzie told him, "Brooks Brother Suit."

"So?" The FBI was just a glorified police force with federal access.

"So that means Fed, talking to the bank manager."

"If some tries to cash these bonds, you call me immediately."

"I never met a Fed before." He took the sucker and handed Moz the pouch.

"Let's keep it that way."

"-detain him if possible."

"Excuse me. Sorry, I couldn't help but overhear. Are you with the FBI?"

"Special Agent Peter Burke," the Fed said.

"Wow. I just took some money out of the bank, and I heard you talking about counterfeiting."

"Your money's safe. I'm looking after counterfeit bonds."

"Well, I have some bonds at home. How would I know if they're not real?"

"I'm sure they're fine."

"Well, thanks again for all the hard work you're doing, Agent Burke." Navon handed Burke the sucker, "That's for you. Have a good day." He walked off, knowing this Burke was probably looking after him.

* * *

Navon stood in line in the store with the forty dollar bottle of wine. He knew Simon was coming and knew the Russian would be annoyed if he had to drink any of the really cheap stuff. And it wasn't like he couldn't afford it now, not with the money he was making from Adler. He knew the money was mostly dirty, that's why he kept feeding it back into the company, but he needed money to live. His budget from Mossad was enough for him to live off of the dollar menu at McDonalds, a place he despised. A woman walked up behind him, struggling with all the packages she was carrying. Automatically, he grabbed several of them off the top.

"Let me help you with that."

The lady looked grateful, her blue eyes smiling back at his own. "Oh, thank you!"

"Trying to open a restaurant?"

The woman laughed. "I have to make dinner for my husband's coworkers. He's made some team or something and they're celebrating. I said I'd cook, only I got so busy unpacking that I wound up leaving everything until last minute." Navon set his wine and her groceries down on what little space there was on the conveyor belt, then took the rest of the items from her, placing one on at a time as the space opened up. "Oh, thank you!"

The cashier looked at him expectantly and he pulled out his wallet, giving the man a fifty and the man gave him his change. The woman paid for her groceries once they finished ringing and she looked flustered when he grabbed most of her bags for her.

"You don't have to do that. I could have-"

"Struggled with them," he finished, "At least let me help you into a taxi." She looked relieved that he hadn't run off at the first sign of being allowed to.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would do if I had to lug them back and forth."

"Your husband should help you lug them to your home." She laughed.

"Are you kidding? My husband's probably not going to leave work until three minutes to when he needs to be home," the woman told him as he opened the cab door for her. "I'm Elizabeth."

"Neal," he replied and she smiled.

"Well, do you mind sharing a cab, Neal?"

He gave her a charming smile. "Not at all."

* * *

"I'm pulling the plug," Eliana told him when he called her.

"What? No!"

"We're sending some else in. I scheduled you a flight home for tomorrow."

"Please don't do this. I can get the job done. Just let me do things my way."

"Your way's going to get you killed, Navon! You've been acting insane and doing these- these cons and you're playing with fire and I don't want to have to explain to your parents why you're coming home in a box!" Neither realized that she had said his name over the phone. "Look, your coming home and going on administrative leave, effective immediately unless you can give me a good reason why I should veto that decision."

He was quiet for a good minute and when he spoke, his voice was so soft she could barely here him. "El, I found something that makes me feel alive again, something that makes me happy about getting up in the morning. We have the highest recovery rate in the division and I'm not tossing myself off a bridge, at least not in a suicidal way."

She sighed on the other end of the phone. "I'll see what I can do."

* * *

"Damn it! Damn it! Damn it!" A man with dark curly hair yelled as he sat at the bar of the Alphabet Bar.

"What's wrong?" Navon asked him as he took a drink from the glass of wine he ordered.

"Vincent Alder." The Israeli eyed him up and down.

"CIA, huh?" The man stiffened. "Let me guess, you were supposed to turn Adler, make him an asset, and he disappeared instead?"

"I take it you're another agency?"

"Mossad."

"Ah, business or pleasure?"

"Both, neither. I was after Alder too. He got me for everything. Or almost everything." The man grimaced.

"August Anderson."

"Navon Chait. But most people call me Neal Caffrey." Recognition flashed over Auggie's face.

"The conman. I had heard some rumors." He gave the man a smile. "It's nice to meet you."

"Pleasure's mine."

* * *

Lehi lehizdayen is Hebrew for F*** you.

This is as close to canon as I could get keeping it in my AU of Neal being the son of two Israeli spies. I wanted to have James still be Neal's real father in this and to be a criminal and I wanted to keep with what Neal told Peter in "What Happens in Burma" about his mother told him his father died a hero and that he grew up wanting to be a cop. I also wanted what he told Peter about his real name being "Neal Bennett" to be the truth.

I feel like Neal's stepfather being named "Noam" is kind of funny, because I realized that the guy who play's Agent Rossabi on CA is named "Noam" in real life.

Shoshanah "Tara" Avraham did not want to be a model. I added her in because White Collar had a canon Israeli character and it was too good to resist! She was in episode 1x02 Threads as an Israeli model getting her toes wet in the modeling industry. She acts shy and timid, but she's a good chameleon. She is whatever she needs to be for the job.

Pick a country is a reference to Covert Affairs episode 2x07, when Auggie tells the flight attendant to pick a country and he'd meet her there. Simon and Neal met in Pikuach Nefesh, when Simon saved him from the Russian prison. Neal is shirtless while Simon fixes him up because I kind of couldn't resist putting him in shirtless. :D I wanted to have Simon take off his shirt completely too, but I figured just the tattoo was enough. When Simon tells Neal that he'll find him, it's a reference to CA 3x01, when he meets Annie and he tells her he'll find her.

The Cafe Mezada on Hayarkon Street is a real place according to the Internet.

Eyal was in medical school before he joined Mossad after his sister's dead. He told Annie this. Alexei Vershinin was, of course, Annie's interrogator when she was imprisoned. Eyal remembers this name, but doesn't allow himself to get revenge.

Many of these scenes are taken from "Forging Bonds". The Beretta is a nod to James Bond and Ian Flemming.

Eliana is a White Collar character… in disguise! Her interactions with Neal on the show are mimicked in this. Can anyone guess who she is?


End file.
